


The Charlatan and the Coinshot

by blacksheep33512, HIMluv



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda, Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Mash-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-08-14 01:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 52,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16483844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksheep33512/pseuds/blacksheep33512, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HIMluv/pseuds/HIMluv
Summary: After tragedy strikes in Elendel, Sara Ryder flees into the Roughs, the wild west of Scadrial. But, at the very edge of the continent rests a town nestled in the cliffs; Kadara Port. And in the Port there’s a suave smuggler that just might prove to be more trouble than he’s worth.Reyes Vidal had seen enough hopelessness in his days in Elendel’s slums. That despair had settled so solemnly in Kadara Port infuriated him. He would have to do something about Sloane Kelly, and the arrival of a Pathfinder might just be the key to all his schemes. But getting Sara Ryder to help him might be a bigger risk than he can afford to take.Updates Tuesdays and Thursdays/sometimes Fridays





	1. Runaway

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: We're finally here! A year to the day that I started writing this fic, Blacksheep and I are ready to share it with you all! We can't wait to for you to read this crazy, self-indulgent story of ours and I hope you drool over all the amazing artwork Blacksheep did for this story! Follow either of us on tumblr and reblog these chapter announcements for a chance to win a print of the featured artwork!
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 1's giveaway [here](https://himluv.tumblr.com/post/179644467210/the-charlatan-and-the-coinshot) or [here](http://blacksheep33512.tumblr.com/post/179644995814/chapter-1-runaway)  
> 

 

Sara crossed the dark room, stuffed another white linen tunic into her leather pack, and drew it closed. She didn’t have much to pack, but it would have to be enough. She paused and took a moment to look out on the sprawling city from the glass doors that led out to her balcony. It was late, but the bright, steady light of the new electric street lights meant Elendel was still awake. She wondered if it would ever truly sleep again, and what that meant for the mists.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
She spun to see her brother leaning in the open doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and his face hidden in the shadows of her room as the light from the hall lit him from behind.  
  
She slung the bag over one shoulder. “Away,” she said, her voice trembling over the word. He sighed and ran a hand through his brown hair, settling in for an argument. “I can’t stay here,” she said, before he had a chance to get started. “I can’t.”  
  
He stepped into the room, the dim candlelight flickering over the stiff white dress shirt he still wore. “And where will you go?” He stopped well out of arm’s reach. Even her brother couldn’t bring himself to come too close to her. Not since that day.  
  
She shrugged. “The Roughs.” At least there no one would know her, no one would know what had happened.  
  
“So you have no plan?” His voice was sharp, accusing. Scott had never approved of her joining Nexus. He thought she should focus on their House and politics, leave the law to their father. Maybe he had been right. If she hadn’t been out there, things might have gone differently.  
  
“I just need space,” she said. She shoved past him and into the warm light of the hallway. “I need to think.”  
  
Scott followed after her, persistent as ever. “You can’t go alone.”  
  
She turned to glare at him. “And you can’t come with me. You’re the scion of House Ryder now.”  
  
He glared back at her, his pale blue eyes boring into her just like their father’s. “Don’t leave me alone in this.”  
  
“You won’t be alone,” she said. “You have Gil.” The engineer turned inventor would be more support for her brother than she ever could, anyway.  
  
“That’s not the same and you know it.”  
  
She eyed him, and for a moment she almost caved. This was her twin, her best friend, her only family left. But then she imagined the parties, where the ladies would titter and gossip and the men would eye her with mixed interest and pity.  
  
No. She couldn’t stay in Elendel.  
  
“I’ll be back,” she said. It was the best she could offer him.  
  
“When?”  
  
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Sara,” her brother started, grabbing her arm.  
  
She jerked free of his grip. “Please, Scott.” She met his eyes and didn’t bother to hide her desperation from him. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a startled bird battling a metal cage. “Let me go,” she whispered.  
  
“Don’t go alone,” he said, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “Take Sam’Muun.”  
  
She stared at him.  
  
“He’s still wearing the horse bones,” he continued. “I don’t need him here, he’ll just feel useless.”  
  
Sara had never been fond of the family kandra, though he’d been nothing but loyal and dutiful for decades. He… it? Creeped her out. But if this was the concession Scott needed to let her go, she would agree.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“Thank you,” Scott sighed. “Should I even bother asking you to write me?”  
  
Sara gave him a sad smile.  
  
“That’s what I thought.” He looked at the darkness outside the window. “You sure you can’t wait until morning?”  
  
Sara shook her head. She needed out of Elendel, now. She should have left this morning, before she’d had to wear the long skirt and button down blouse, before the makeup and fancy hair, before she’d had to become someone else so that all the talk and speculation of the day would rebound off of her. But she couldn’t leave Scott to tend to the funeral all by himself. She wanted out, but she wasn’t completely selfish.  
  
Her twin sighed again, but followed her down the stairs. He lingered at the foot of the staircase as she headed for the door. “Stay safe,” he called.  
  
She nodded that she would. She took her black bowler hat from the rack, and froze as she eyed the leather coat that hung beside it. Made of worn, black leather, the coat was much too big for her. It was a mistcoat, with long leather strips from the waist to her ankles. Being a Coinshot was the one thing she’d had in common with her father, and now that she was leaving she couldn’t bear to leave the coat behind. She tugged it from its hook, shrugging into leather left supple from years of Pathfinding. The tassels felt cumbersome in their parlor, but she knew that once she was out in the mists, once she was flying like only a Coinshot could, those same leather strips would whip and play with the mist that so often clung to Allomancers, feeling more like home than any building.  
  
It didn’t fit her, but that didn’t matter. She ignored the Pathfinder’s crest embroidered into the lapel as she straightened it on her shoulders, and let the familiar scent soothe her. And it did, but it also stabbed at her, a reminder of what she’d lost. She glanced back at Scott, worried that he might object to her acquisition.  
  
He shook his head, a subtle sadness tweaking his features. “Take it. Dad would have wanted you to have it.”  
  
She nodded, unable to speak, and then fled into the dark night, desperate for the comfort of the mists.


	2. Kadara Port

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much to everyone that commented, left kudos, or liked/reblogged this chapter over on tumblr! You are all amazing and we love each and every one of you! Now, are you ready to meet a certain smuggler?
> 
> Don't forget about our massive artwork giveaway!
> 
> Chapter 2's giveaway [here](https://himluv.tumblr.com/post/179833920995/chapter-2-kadara-port) or [here](http://blacksheep33512.tumblr.com/post/179834074689/chapter-2-kadara-port)   
> 

****

 

**3 MONTHS LATER**

 

She’d found Sam a fresh set of horse bones once they’d reached the first Roughs town. She couldn’t bear to ride the corpse of her father’s horse, even if it was just a recreation. Sam had objected, but only briefly. He found the bones demeaning, which she supposed she could understand. But, she couldn’t have a third generation kandra with crystals for a skeleton following her around in the open either.

There were times when she nearly commanded the creature to return to her brother in Elendel. He talked too much, about things she’d rather leave buried. But she was also afraid to be alone. The Roughs were called that for a reason, and even if he was currently a horse, having a companion made her feel moderately safe. Not that Sara was ever unarmed.

There was the knife sheathed in her left boot, the shotgun holstered to her right thigh, and the small handgun that rested against her ribcage in its shoulder holster. And of course, there was her Steel.

Sara and Sam approached Kadara Port from the mountain pass and, as the trees thinned into scrub and the hills flattened into plains, the last thing she’d expected to see was a town literally built into a cliffside. The levels of the city were built into the strata of the cliff, overlooking the sea. It was marvelous, and actually a little terrifying; she had never seen the ocean before, and the idea of living above it set her teeth on edge.

She pulled her mount up short and gazed at the town.

“Is something the matter, Ryder?” The kandra asked.

She was too familiar with Sam to find his ability to speak strange. Kandra created bodies based on the bones they were provided. Those bones acted as the blueprint for the form they’d take, but the musculature was malleable. Sam was able to create vocal chords that horses didn’t have, allowing himself to communicate with his human counterparts. For someone who’d never met a kandra, it was rusting terrifying. But, Sara was all too used to Sam’s verbose nature.

She leaned against the saddle horn, dropping the reins. “Town like that, we’re probably going to have to find you some new bones,” she said. Sam didn’t need to know she felt nervous about the sea. “Maybe a dog?”

The horse shuddered beneath her. “Ryder,” he said. “I have bones, and I worked very hard to earn them.”

She sighed. “I know Sam, but a kandra wandering a Roughs town in its true skeleton? That would just cause too much trouble.”

The horse snorted, but didn’t comment further.

“Do you know anything about this place?” She asked as they continued walking toward the town.

“Kadara Port was established by an indigenous people known as the Angara,” the kandra said. “However, limited reports suggest that it is currently under Outcast rule.”

Sara winced. The Outcasts were a powerful gang in the Roughs, though their presence closer to the Elendel Basin had dwindled with the recent successes of a new gang. The Kett were particularly blood-thirsty and consisted only of Koloss-blooded members. The Pathfinder teams had express orders to engage Kett on sight. In fact, it’d been an assault against the Kett that had gone so wrong all those months ago.

“Any word on Kett activity in the area?”

“I believe the Outcasts routed them, taking over the Port.”

Sara blinked. “So this is their final stronghold.”

“It does seem that way.”

As they drew closer, Sara adjusted her mistcoat, turning the lapel so that the Pathfinder badge was no longer readily visible. The last thing she needed was someone starting trouble with her because they thought she was still Nexus.

Once under the shadow of the first buildings, Sara drew a vial from her belt and downed the contents. The whiskey left a residual heat on her tongue, and helped hide the metallic flavor of the steel shavings.

Instinctively, she burned the metal as it settled in her belly. Blue lines appeared in her vision, whether her eyes were open or not, all originating from the center of her chest and leading to some piece of metal or another. Of all the metals in the world, only aluminum was truly inert to Allomancy, though certain alloys would lose their Allomantic functions if they were changed too much. But, aluminum was expensive, and Kadara Port was a Roughs town.

Blue lines flared to life in every direction. The fainter the line, the weaker her Allomantic connection to the metal was. The bits in horses’ mouths, the metal rings on their saddle cinches, the door handles and window latches on the buildings, these lines mostly stayed still, quivering slightly if the window vibrated as someone slammed a door, or a horse chomped at its bit. But what Sara really needed to keep an eye on were the more mobile lines. Odds were those were pistols, and knowing who was armed ahead of time had saved her life more than once.

She found a hitching post and dismounted, looping Sam’s reins over the post as a formality. She needed to get a sense of the town and see if she could find some work. She looked up from Sam, patting his black coat automatically, and noticed she’d managed to find the tavern on her first stop.

Her boots thudded across the wooden porch, and she kept her Steel burning as she entered the bar. It was mid-afternoon, so it wasn’t too crowded, but she took a quick catalog of the clientele. A thick blue line led to the bar, but didn’t move. Sara wagered that was a shotgun, waiting for when trouble reared its head. A thinner line moved behind the bar, keeping time with the movements of the barkeep. The woman was pretty enough, but her gruff demeanor and sour expression led Sara to expect the knife she wielded when a patron tried to skip out on his tab.

A couple more lines led to belt buckles of men playing cards at a table, and one led to a man sitting in a back booth. She glanced at him casually, and judged him as a possible Terrisman thanks to his tawny skin and dark hair. He wore a long sleeved, white button up shirt tucked into black pants. Black work boots, black suspenders, and leather welder’s goggles around his neck completed the look. He also wasn’t shy about the pistol on his hip, which was where her Allomancy led.

Assessment concluded, Sara approached the bar and ordered a whiskey, neat.

“Only way we serve it,” the bartender snapped. But she poured quickly, and Sara was pleasantly surprised at the quality. She left a coin on the counter and moved off to find a table of her own. A bulletin board caught her eye, and she spent a couple minutes reading over bounties and wanted posters. She had enough coin to find a place to stay, and maybe to stable Sam if she couldn’t find dog bones, but it would run out fast. Her last bounty had wanted its fugitive alive, but Screamin’ Reggie had refused to cooperate. Half pay was better than none, but she could always do with more.

She took a couple of the broadsheets down and settled at a table. She read them over, memorizing the details before she folded the pages and stowed them in the inside pocket of her mistcoat. Then she downed her whiskey. It was a start.

One of the allomantic lines, the one attached to the lone drinker in the corner, was on the move. It gave her just enough warning that she didn’t flinch when he spoke from behind her.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone,” he said. His voice was rich and accented, though she couldn’t tell from where.

She turned to look at him, eying him up and down. He wasn’t as tall as she’d expected, and he was stockier too. Only Terris-blooded then.

He grabbed a chair, but paused. “May I?”

She arched a thin eyebrow at him, but gestured for him to sit. She hadn’t expected manners this far from the Basin.

He pulled out the chair and lounged into it, making it look like a throne instead of a rickety dining chair. He caught the bartender’s eye and held up two fingers. A moment later she approached them with two fresh glasses of whiskey.

“You’re new here,” he stated after they took their first sips. “Looking for work?”

She smirked. “What gave me away?” In a town like this, it had to be painfully obvious, but she was also a mess from over a week on the road.

He reached forward, startling her, and flicked her lapel. “Only someone unfamiliar with Kadara Port would wear a Nexus logo here, Pathfinder.”

She straightened her collar, flipping it down to disguise the patch. “I’m not a Pathfinder,” she said. She looked away from him, taking a gulp of her drink.

“Oh?” He arched a dark brow over his amber eyes. “Funny way of showing it.”

She sighed. “You asked if I was looking for work,” she said. “Does that mean you have something for me?”

“Maybe,” he said. He shrugged and finished his drink. “But, I thought you were a Pathfinder.” He glanced at her, a dare in his eyes. “Now I think you might not be able to manage it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have time for this,” she said and prepared to stand.

“What do you know about Sloane Kelly?” The man asked.

Sara froze. Sloane Kelly had fallen off the grid over a year and a half ago. The woman wasn’t in the Port, was she? “Former Nexus,” she said with a shrug. “Rumor is she had a falling out with leadership and defected. She fell off the grid.”

He nodded. “Fell off the grid and right into Kadara Port.”

“Sloane’s here?” Sara sat back down. This was big news, news Nexus leadership would want, would pay handsomely for. But that would mean writing to Scott. Or worse, returning to Elendel.

“You’ve heard of the Kett?”

She glared at him. “I may not be a Pathfinder, but I’ve spent the last three months roaming the Roughs.”

“Well, they took the Port from the natives. Violently.” His gaze darkened, a shadow of emotion flickering over his face. “Until Sloane and her Outcasts rode in and saved the day.”

Sara stared at the man. “Sloane leads the Outcasts?”

“And now she’s the self-proclaimed Queen of Kadara.” He finished his whiskey, setting the glass back to the table with a frown.

This was huge news, but she reined in her excitement and kept it from her voice and her face. “What does this have to do with me?”

He settled back into his chair, those golden eyes locked on her face. “Vehn Terev is an angaran fugitive, wanted for selling their leader to the Kett.”

Her eyebrows shot up. The Kett were renowned for their violence, turning someone over to them was sentencing them to death. A slow and painful one.

“The angara want him, to try him by their laws and customs.”

“But Sloane has him,” she said, putting the pieces together.

A slow smile crept over his face. “And she intends to execute him, publicly.”

“You want me to break him out of Outcast headquarters?” she scoffed. “What makes you think I can do that?”

He shrugged. “Waltz in here in a mistcoat bearing a Pathfinder’s badge?” He grinned. “You’re my best shot in Kadara Port.”

She considered his words, and shook her head. “I’ve got three bounties here that pay decent and aren’t likely to end in my death. If you want me to do this, compensation will need to be good.”

He blinked, giving away his surprise. He really thought she was a Pathfinder, that she would help the angara out of some sense of duty. Once upon a time he would have been right about her. But, three months in the Roughs had taught her a lot, and Sara was a quick study.

He watched her for a moment, his fingers fiddling with the rim of his whiskey glass. “I can get you room and board for you and your horse,” he said. “Plus payment for services rendered on behalf of the anagara.”

She stared at him. “Who are you?”

“Shena,” he said, extended a hand to her. “Or, at least, that’s what the angara call me. You can call me Reyes.”

She shook his hand. “Sara Ryder. You work for the angara?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. I do many things for many people.” He smiled. “You need something, I can get it for you.”

Her face went blank as she tried not to react negatively. “You’re a smuggler,” she said.

“On occasion,” he admitted.

He wasn’t the first criminal she’d crossed paths with over the last few months; it was called the Roughs after all. But, he was the most forthcoming one she’d met. It made her nervous, like walking into a trap she couldn’t see. As if his blatant admission was a diversion, but she didn’t know what from.

Still, she needed a place to stay, and if that place had a stall for Sam, even better. “Do you have a plan for getting Terev out, or is that all on me?”

He grinned again, turning on the charm. “I’ve got some resources available, if you’re in.”

She sighed. “Let me get settled. I need to sleep in a bed or I’ll be useless.” She sniffed at herself. “And Harmony, a bath, then I’m in.”

Reyes laughed, and gave her directions for an inn not far from the bar. “Tell Paaran Shie I sent you.”

She nodded that she would, and was surprised when he stood up and walked away. “Hey!” She called after him, pushing up from her chair. “How do I contact you if things go south?”

He paused, one foot on the stair, and looked at her. Then he winked and left the bar.

Sara blinked at his back, a blush creeping up her neck to blossom on her cheeks. That man was definitely trouble. She made to chase after him, but a sharp voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Hey!” The bartender shouted. “You gotta pay!”

Sara stared at the woman. She _had_ paid. But the barkeep pointed at the empty glasses on the table. Rust and Ruin! The man had left her with the tab!

She paid, unwilling to face the bartender’s blade if she could avoid it, and hurried from the bar before she attracted too many curious glances. She untied Sam’s reins and mounted up.

“Was it a productive stop?” the kandra asked as she steered him in the direction of the inn, keeping his pace slow to make sure they didn’t venture too close that anyone might overhear her conversation with her horse.

“We’re about to find out,” she said. This was the first test, if the room and board worked out she might be able to trust Reyes. At least, when it came to work, which was all she cared about at the moment. “Did you notice the man that left the bar right before me?” She asked, though she wasn’t really sure what had spurred the question.

“The Terris-blooded?” Sam asked.

“I think so,” she said. “Any thoughts?”

The kandra snorted, the sound only slightly horselike. “Why does this human warrant further scrutiny?”

“Because he approached me with work and gave me the directions for this inn.”

“What kind of work?” The kandra didn’t bother to hide his suspicion.

“The kind we won’t discuss out in the open,” she whispered. His horse ears flicked back to catch her words.

“Miss Ryder,” he said as they neared the inn. “Your father would not approve. You were Nexus, his second in command-”

“And now he’s dead,” she snapped. The kandra fell silent at her tone. They reached the hitching post and she dismounted, flinging the reins over it carelessly.

The Aya Inn was an old two story building tucked off the main street, surrounded by tenement housing and weary apartments. But, its front porch was freshly swept with comfortable looking chairs arranged in homey pairs. The trough at the hitching post was clean, the water crisp and clear.

The place screamed of pride of ownership. Sara dismounted, once again slinging the reins over the post for appearances, and pat Sam’s neck.

“Wish me luck.”


	3. The Slums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Y'all. This might be one of my favorite pieces of art for this fic. Blacksheep really outdid herself on this one! I hope you like it, and the chapter, as much as we do!

 

Reyes cut through back allies and bolt holes to get to the Aya Inn before Ryder. Paaran Shie greeted him with her usual warmth and offered him a drink.

“No thank you,” he said. “I’ve got someone coming your way.”

She raised a dark, finely trimmed eyebrow. “What kind of someone?”

“The kind that’s gonna get you Vehn Terev.”

She gaped at him for a moment and then grinned. “Someone very special then.”

He nodded and closed his eyes. He sought out the presence of the tin flakes in his stomach, and burned them ever so slightly. The allomancy heightened all of his senses, but he focused on his hearing; Ryder wouldn’t be far behind him.

“Miss Ryder,” a muffled voice said. “Your father would not approve. You were Nexus, his second in command-”

“And now he’s dead,” she snapped.

Reyes doused his tin and carefully opened his eyes. Tin enhanced his senses, and though it’d been a long time since he’d blinded himself, it wasn’t a lesson he’d soon forget.

“She’s here,” he announced. He made to leave the inn, but the angara stopped him.

“This one has coin, right Vidal?”

He gave her his brightest smile. “Paaran! She’ll get Tereve back to the angara. Do you really need her coin?”

She scowled, but waved him on his way. Reyes thanked her and hurried out the back door, making his way to the lift.

His mind had latched onto Ryder, especially since he heard her conversation with whoever her companion was. She had been alone at Umi’s bar, he was sure of that. Which meant she’d been clever enough to keep someone waiting in the wings once she left the tavern. And, despite her claims to the contrary, she had been Nexus, and her father’s second in command.

And apparently he was dead. That explained the mistcoat, and probably her appearance in the Roughs, but it didn’t explain why she’d come to Kadara Port or what she wanted to accomplish in the town. The sooner he found that out, the sooner he could start weaving her into his plans.

He approached the lift, a large metal platform that dangled from thick steel cables, and nodded at the Outcast guard attending it. The guard nodded once, recognizing him, and let Reyes pass without incident. They didn’t care so much who went down to the slums as they did who tried to come up.

The lift wasn’t his favorite thing about the Port, but it didn’t terrify him as much as it did Sloane. The angara had engineered it, allowing easy transport between the topside of the city and the lower streets and neighborhoods. But Sloane loathed the contraption and had quickly segregated the Port, condemning many angara and those who couldn’t afford her exorbitant ‘protection’ fees to the slums, as she called it. Her preferred citizens and those able to afford her brand of safety remained at the top of the cliff.

And Reyes… Well, Reyes did his best to split his time between both.

The lift shrieked as gears engaged, slowly dropping the platform down into the slums. As he did each time, Reyes marveled at the damage Sloane and her Outcasts had caused in just over a year. Sure, many of the burned out buildings and crumbling structures were remnants of the Kett occupation, but Sloane had done nothing to repair these streets. She had offered no assistance to the displaced and starving, had offered no solutions to the problems that faced those below.

And so violent crime skyrocketed in the slums as those left to fend for themselves did whatever they had to in order to survive.

It infuriated him. His jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists as he paid witness to the despair and devastation that strangled the Port. He could do better. He _would_ do better. And if he played his cards right, Ryder would help him.

The lift touched down, jarring him from his thoughts. He walked through the slums and took the tinted goggles from around his neck to place them over his eyes. Once his sight was sufficiently dimmed he burned tin again.

Shadows flared into crisp clarity and the sounds of the slums assaulted him. The dry scrape of twig brooms on porches, the constant clomp of boots in the dirt as people walked through the streets, the cry of a child in the distance, and the low hum of the mother who tried to soothe it.

There were smells too, the usual stench of poverty and oppression chief among them. Sanitation services were nearly non-existent and the reek of sweat, urine, and shit mingled into something indescribably unpleasant. Underneath that were other, more pleasant smells. Bread cooling on a windowsill, angaran fruit pies baking in an oven, and as he drew closer to the club, beer and the greasy goodness of fried food.

He entered the saloon and nodded at the bartender. Kian was a good friend, but Reyes didn’t have time to stop and chat. He ignored the temptation of dinner, even skipped ordering another whiskey, and only spared the dancers the barest of glances before he hurried up the stairs and to his private room. Once inside, the door locked securely behind him, Reyes dug through the small writing desk and found two pages of tightly folded paper.

Blueprints of the Mayoral Estate had been difficult to come by. Finding them had been the result of months of research and digging. Sloane thought she had the only copies, but one thing Reyes knew as fact was that every man had a price. And the Outcast he’d paid to snatch these maps had been relatively noble, and expensive.

But, if the blueprints would help Ryder get Terev, they would be worth every penny. He took the sheets to the small coffee table, and sat at the worn, floral patterned settee behind it. With careful attention he poured over the drawings, doing his best to memorize the lines that showed him hallways and doorways, so that one day he could wander through the estate at his leisure and take everything from Sloane.

However, he wasn’t an Archivist; he couldn’t store memories away to call on them later. The ability had once been the trademark of the Terris people, but those days were long gone, buried under rust and ash. Now true Feruchemists were extinct. No one could tap all the metals, but Ferrings could still be found around the world.

As the minutes ticked to hours, Reyes’ eyes began to droop. With a sigh, he tapped the bronze bracers her wore under his long sleeved shirt, sapping the wakefulness he’d stored there. Instantly he was alert, as if he’d had five cups of coffee and a full night’s sleep, and he returned his attention to the documents before him.

A knock on the door an hour later startled him. He refolded the blueprints and then stood to open the door. The bartender stood on the other side, an unopened bottle of whiskey in one hand, and a plate of food in the other.

“I swear,” the man griped. “You would starve to death without me.”

Reyes shook his head, chuckling, and let Kian enter. “Why do you think I prefer to work here than in my flat topside?”

Kian snorted. “Because you don’t want Sloane catching wind of your evil schemes.”

“Well, there is that.”

Both men laughed, and then Kian poured two glasses of the whiskey. The bartender glanced at the coffee table, noting the folded papers. He arched a red eyebrow at Reyes.

“What are you scheming this time?”

“Just doing some research for the angara,” he said. “I’ve got a contact that might be able to get to Terev.”

“Well, that’s quite the development,” Kian said, perching on the arm of the settee. “Who’s the contact?”

Reyes took a drink from his glass. “She’s new in town.”

“She?” The bartender gave him a skeptical look.

“Don’t give me that,” Reyes said. “This is business.”

“That’s what you said last time, mate, and Zia came back to bite you in the ass.”

Reyes made a frustrated sound. His friend wasn’t wrong, though his ex was hardly such a problem as the bartender made her seem. Besides, Ryder was Nexus, and running from her past. He shook his head. “This one’s going to come and go,” he said, raising his glass. “Just you see.”

Kian shook his head, still smiling, and raised is glass in kind. “To business!”

“To business!”

 

Sara woke early, mainly because she’d had trouble sleeping. She always had trouble the first few nights in a new town, there were too many new sounds that could be threats, and so she startled awake and tossed and turned. The sun was just cresting the distant mountain tops when she finished dressing, and she was surprised to smell bacon and eggs as she made her way downstairs.

“Ryder,” Paaran Shie greeted as she entered the kitchen. “Good morning. I didn’t expect you up so soon.”

Sara waved the woman off. “Don’t mind me,” she said.

“Can I get you anything?” The angaran woman genuinely sounded like she wanted to be of use, wanted to be a considerate host, and Sara couldn’t bear to let her down.

“I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee.”

A bright grin split the woman’s mahogany face. “Wonderful! Do you take cream or sugar?”

“Neither, thank you.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You Basiners, no appreciation for the sweeter things in life.” She swept through the kitchen, and poured piping hot coffee from a pot on the cook stove.

Sara took it gratefully, cupping the warm mug between both hands and inhaling the robust, roasted fragrance. “’Basiners’?” She asked once she’d taken a sip.

“Oh, I apologize,” Paaran said. “It’s a common term for folks from the Elendel Basin. I did not mean to offend.” Worry filled the woman’s large, hazel eyes.

“Not offended,” Sara promised. “I’ve never heard the term before, that’s all.”

The angaran woman nodded, but only seemed slightly mollified. “Breakfast?” She asked a moment later, gesturing to the fried eggs and bacon.

“Please,” Sara said. She watched as Paaran plated up the food, and thanked the woman again for her hospitality. Sara ate quickly as Paaran moved about the kitchen, tidying up and leaving the dishes to soak. The moment Sara’s plate was empty it was swept away.

“What’ll you do today?” She asked as she started scrubbing at the plate.

“I need to meet with Reyes to discuss the work he had lined up for me,” Sara said. “You wouldn’t know where I could find him, would you?”

The woman shook her head, apparently exasperated at Reyes’ antics. “That man, I swear. So dramatic.” She dried her hands on her apron and then proceeded to give detailed directions to a bar in the slums called Tartarus.

Sara frowned. “Is it far enough that I need to take Sam?”

“Who?”

“Oh, my horse,” Sara answered.

She considered it for a moment. “I suppose you could, but I doubt the poor thing would enjoy the trip.”

“Why’s that?” Sara tilted her head.

“Animals don’t do well on the lift.”

The anagara didn’t explain further, and Sara figured she’d see it for herself soon enough. She thanked Paaran for breakfast and the coffee, and then ran back up to her room to get her weapons. The shoulder holster slipped into place, the small pistol tucked into it, and her mistcoat went over that. Her boot knife was already sheathed in her left boot. And her coin pouch and metal vials hung from the belt at her waist. The shotgun she would have to leave behind, unfortunately.

All her Roughs clothes were soiled from weeks on the road. Paaran Shie had insisted on adding them to her day’s washing, and that meant Sara was left with what her brother would have called her best change of clothes. The linen blouse was a light blue, with a high, ruffled neckline and long sleeves that ended in ruffled cuffs. The shirt buttoned down and tucked into light tan, trousers tailored from material that cost enough to make her blush. There was a reason she rarely wore them.

She pulled her long, sandy brown hair into a messy bun and double checked her reflection in the vanity mirror. She sighed, both pleased and frustrated. She looked good, like a proper lady going out on errands. Which was exactly what Sara hated. She was a Coinshot, a dangerous misting whose aim with a gun was only rivaled by her aim with a coin. She was a force of nature, capable and intelligent, not some delicate woman that needed saving.

But, it would have to do. It was all she had. Confident that she was well armed, she made her way back downstairs.

“You look lovely, my dear,” Paaran said as they crossed paths. “I know you must be capable enough to make it so far from the Basin, but please take care in the slums.”

“Thank you,” Sara said, trying not to roll her eyes. “I will.” She nodded to the woman and headed out to the small barn tucked away on the back of the property. She hauled the sliding door open, and was greeted by Sam’s large head over the stall door.

“There you are,” the kandra said.

Sara looked around, worried that someone might hear him.

“There’s no one here,” he assured her.

“I came to tell you that I’m going to meet with Reyes,” she said. “It’s in a less desirable part of the Port, and wanted you to know, in case you need to come looking for me.”

“My bones?” he asked.

“They’re in the saddlebag. You should be able to get to them if you have to.”

He nodded his head twice, the motion incredibly horselike. “Do you anticipate trouble?”

She shrugged. “Not anything I won’t be able to handle.”

“Miss,” he started, his tone warning. It made her bristle.

“Sam,” she said. “I’ll be fine. I don’t need you trying to play chaperone.”

Big, liquid brown eyes watched her for a moment, but he finally nodded again.

She sighed. “I should be back by dinner at the latest. If not, I give you permission to come looking for me.”

“Of course, Miss.” His voice was cold, lifeless, and she regretted snapping at him. But, she couldn’t bring herself to apologize either.

She left the barn without another word, and hurried down the street toward the mysterious lift, burning the steel shavings that rested in her belly. She was surprised when the large source of metal her allomancy had detected turned out to be a lift. The platform hung beside the edge of the cliff, two large cranes bearing the steel cables that would drop and raise the lift as needed. It was ugly, inelegant, and incredibly practical.

Sara loved it.

The guard eyed her as she approached. His gaze unsettled her, lingering over her body just a moment too long, but it was his smirk that set her on edge.

“I think you must be lost, Miss,” he said, stepping toward her. “Pretty thing like you can’t have business down in the slums.”

She glared at him. “A pretty thing like me shouldn’t be able to kill a man with my mind either, but I can.”

“What?” He stammered.

She pulled a coin from her pouch and dropped it. The faint blue line followed the coin as it hit the dirt and then she Pushed off of it.

Allomancy, for those who used it, was more a science than magic. But that didn’t make it any less terrifying for those who didn’t understand it. One moment, Sara stood before the guard and then she was soaring over his head. She dropped another coin as she descended, Pushing against it to press it into the dirt. Once it was in place it was her weight against the planet’s. She Pushed softly, slowing her descent until she landed with the barest rustle of her mistcoat tassels, the dust billowing at her feet and no higher. She kept walking until her boots rang out on the steel platform that was the lift.

“I’d like to go to the slums, please,” she said in her nicest voice. The guard gaped at her, his face pale with shock. He nodded mutely and Sara smiled. “You can keep the change,” she said, and winked. The lift descended, and Sara had a good laugh on the way down as she committed the guard’s face to her memory. But her good humor fled as she took in the state of the city around her.

There were entire neighborhoods set back into the cliff, and most of them were dilapidated. Some bore the scorch marks of fires that had eventually been contained, and others were nothing but ash coating stone foundations. Symbols carved into walls and doors claimed the ruins as the work of the Kett. But that had been over a year ago. Why hadn’t repairs been made?

Things did not get better as the lift jolted into the ground. The smell hit her first, the rot and reek of too many people crammed together with no real management of the mess that made. Even the sea breeze couldn’t completely clear the air. Shouts from an alley caught her attention, but she knew better than to stick her nose where it didn’t belong. At least, not yet.

The city was like two completely different towns. The one up above was fairly clean and well organized for a Roughs town, though Sara suspected they had the angara to thank for the good planning and maintenance of their home. But down below there was filth and swill, and the desperation of those that called the slums home was palpable, a taste that lingered in the air.

Now she understood why Paaran Shie had been worried. Dressed as she was, Sara would make a prime target for someone desperate enough, and in the slums, that was just about everyone. But, she didn’t hurry, didn’t glance around anxiously. Her clothes made her a target, but her behavior didn’t have to.

Besides, anyone that chose to take advantage of Sara Ryder was in for quite the surprise. After weaving through the narrow streets, doing her best to keep her miscoat tassels out of the mud, she finally found the bar Paaran had told her about.

It looked exactly as she expected, with weary salt-whipped wood, and thin glass windows that were streaked with the residue of too many ocean breezes. The porch creaked under her feet, and she actually worried that she would fall through it, but it held. She pushed through the door and walked straight to the bar, her posture tall and upright, neck long and head tilted ever so slightly with confidence. Every head turned to look at her.

Her youth in Elendel hadn’t been an entire waste; she sure knew how to make an entrance.

The barkeep’s green eyes widened, and he looked around the bar to quell any who thought to advance on her too soon. “Miss,” he said once she was close enough. “Are you lost?”

She let out a frustrated huff. “How many men in this town are going to assume that about me?”

“Uh… all of them if you’re dressed like that in the slums.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m looking for a man named Reyes.”

Comprehension lit the barkeep’s eyes. “You’re her?”

She scowled. “Depends on what he said about me.”

He laughed and his shoulders relaxed slightly. He nodded toward the stairwell. “Up there, third door on the right.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

She shoved off the bar to make her way upstairs.

“Oh, and miss…?”

“Ryder,” she said.

He grinned. “He’s not awake yet,” he said. “Consider yourself warned.”

Sara glanced up the stairs, suddenly unsure if she should disturb his sleep, but he was the one that had winked at her and left instead of saying when and where to contact him. She convinced herself that it was his fault, and made her way up the stairs.


	4. Plans

 

 

Someone knocked at his door. It took a moment for the sound to register; he always slept much deeper when he stored wakefulness into his bronzeminds. But once he realized there was someone trying to get to him, he tapped his bracers and was instantly awake.

“Just a minute,” he called. He glanced at his pocket watch. “By the Survivor,” he cursed under his breath. No one would wake him at this hour if they knew him. That meant whoever was out there was new. He pulled on his long sleeved white shirt from the day before, not bothering to button it, and then stumbled into his black pants. The knocking continued as he buttoned his trousers, so he didn’t bother fastening the belt. “What?” he snarled as he tore open the door.

Sara Ryder stood in the hall, looking nothing like she had the day before. Her mistcoat was the same, and he had a feeling she never left home without it. It didn’t fit her, which meant it had belonged to someone else, probably the dead father if he had to wager. But aside from that, she looked like a completely different woman.

Her pale blue blouse complemented her bright blue-green eyes and tucked into tan trousers that accentuated her high and narrow waist. Her hair was up, pulled into a messy bun that shorter strands had fallen from, framing her face. Which was currently as red as a tomato.

“Ryder,” he breathed. His shirt was open, and his pants were somewhat undone. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had caught him in such a state, but her embarrassment made him uncomfortable, even as he enjoyed the flush of her skin. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting you,” he said and hurried to button his shirt.

She spun to turn her back to him. “I’ll just give you a moment,” she said.

He laughed. She’d already seen him, why turn away so he could cover up? He didn’t tease her about it though and used the opportunity to tuck his shirt in and buckle his belt. “All right,” he said. “You can come in.”

She turned around, and somehow her face was even more flushed than before. “I apologize,” she stammered. “I didn’t know how to reach you, and we need to-”

“It’s fine,” he said, ushering her inside before she shared their business with the whole rusting bar.

“The bartender said you wouldn’t be up,” she continued. “I just didn’t expect,” she paused, gesturing at his body without looking at him.

That made him laugh. “Why, Ryder,” he said, his voice teasing. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a man without his shirt on.”

She glared at him. “Of course I have,” she snapped, sitting primly on his old settee.

He grinned. “Family doesn’t count.”

She blushed even more but her glare didn’t waver. “You said you had resources?” She asked, changing the subject.

His grin widened, but he nodded. “I do, but you might not need them.” He leaned against his bed frame and crossed his arms over his chest. “You might not be a Pathfinder,” he said. “But you are Nexus.”

She shook her head. “Not anymore.”

He waited for her to explain. When she didn’t he shrugged and continued. “Might be even better. You might be able to negotiate with Sloane in a way the angara can’t.”

Sara winced. “Not likely. I might have made one of her guards soil himself this morning.”

He raised a dark eyebrow at her.

She flushed again. “I needed on the lift, and he was very condescending. Also, I don’t take kindly to men assuming things about me because of my gender.”

He chuckled. He had a hard time reconciling the woman sitting before him with the one he’d met yesterday until she said that. “What did you do to poor Harold?”

She smiled, mischief in her blue eyes. “I maybe said something about killing him with my mind before I Steelpushed my way over him and onto the lift.”

Reyes’ brows shot up. He’d had an inkling of her ability, given the mistcoat, but he couldn’t be sure until he saw her in action or she admitted it. “Harold has a big mouth,” he admitted. “It’s about time someone reminded him he’s low on the totem pole.”

She preened slightly, her shoulders wiggling as she straightened her posture and tilted her head at him. “But I’m afraid it won’t make a good impression on Sloane.”

He waved her concern away. “It was a long shot anyway.” He went to his desk and found the blueprints he’d been working over the night before. He unfolded them onto the coffee table and sat next to her on the settee. “These are the blueprints to the Mayoral Estate, Sloane’s current base of operations.”

Sara pored over them, blinking rapidly as she tried to memorize them. Then she shifted her eyes to his face. “How did you get these?”

“Do you really want to know the answer to that?” He’d bribed one of Sloane’s top agents, over a series of months, until they could get the blueprints. They’d been discovered eventually and executed, but by that time there was no connection to Reyes. Ryder didn’t need to know any of that.

She watched him for a long moment and then sighed. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

He pressed his finger to a building at the back of the property, adjacent to the stables. “Sloane has retrofitted the guardhouse into a prison.”

“Why not just use the Port’s jail?” Sara asked.

“She does, but not for someone as high profile as Terev.”

She let her eyes wander over the maps and nodded her head. “Getting on the property won’t be a problem,” she said with the confidence only a Coinshot could have. “Getting Terev out will be another matter.”

“I know the guy who did the retrofits, it’s your typical steel and iron prison.”

“And the lock?” She asked.

He shrugged. “Should be fairly straightforward. Hardly think it’d be a problem for a Coinshot.”

“It’s always best to be prepared. I like to have a back-up plan.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said. “The bigger issue will be getting Terev off the grounds.”

Sara nodded her agreement. “Do we have any idea what her guard retinue is like?”

“Not anything recent. But, Sloane’s getting paranoid. It’s likely her guards are concentrated on the mansion itself.” He pointed at the building in the center of the page. It was the largest structure on the property, and likely the largest standalone house in the whole Port.

“Not one for subtlety, is she?”

Reyes chuckled. “She’s not one for dramatics, but she’s blunt, and gets what she wants.”

Sara chewed her lip as she stared at the blueprint. After a moment it was clear that she wasn’t really seeing the paper anymore, her mind working through the challenge ahead of her. “What I really need is a distraction.”

Reyes very nearly offered to help her, but held his tongue. He had a good feeling about Ryder, but he didn’t really know how effective she would be. It wouldn’t do to put himself at risk if she turned out to be completely incompetent. He caught her uncertain glance in his direction, her lip still caught between her teeth. “What did you have in mind?”

“You said you could get anything, right?”

That was unexpected. She needed his smuggling skills? “Of course,” he said.

“And you’ll be discreet?” She didn’t blush, which he half expected. She looked deathly serious, her eyes holding his without flinching.

“It’s my specialty,” he said with a reassuring smile.

She closed her eyes, as if considering what she would say next. “I need dog bones,” she said after a moment.

He blinked. “I’m sorry?” he must have misheard her.

“Dog bones,” she repeated. “The bigger the hound the better.”

Or he hadn’t misheard her, and she was asking for something extremely strange. “May I ask why you need such a… morbid thing?”

She shook her head. “The less you know, the better it is for both of us.”

He watched her, unsure if he should agree to this. “Just the bones?” He clarified. “Not a dead dog?” He swallowed against his next thought. “Or, a live one?”

She rolled her eyes. “I promise you it’s not what you’re thinking. I just need a dog skeleton, intact.”

He kept his eyes on her, wondering if she would break down and laugh, her joke having run its course. But she held his gaze, determined and serious. He shook his head and let out a confused huff. “You’re a strange woman, Ryder.”

She snorted. “You have no idea. Can you get the bones or not?”

“Give me a day or two,” he said. “I’ll do some digging. I should be able to find something.”

She sighed. “Good. Thank you.”

His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t had breakfast or even a cup of coffee yet. He stood from the settee, but Sara didn’t move. “I’m going to head down and see about some breakfast,” he said. “Can I get you anything?”

She shook her head. “I already ate, thank you.”

“How about some coffee?”

She looked up at him, her eyes bright and a smile on her lips. “That would be wonderful.”

He nodded, and hurried down to the bar. He stopped tapping his metalminds as he did, and his exhaustion settled on his shoulders like a cloak.

Kian noticed his approach and smiled. “You didn’t say this woman was so fetching,” the bartender accused.

“Because yesterday she wasn’t,” he growled. Not entirely true, but Ryder’s outfit for the day was much more eye-catching than her traveling clothes from yesterday’s meeting.

“I doubt that,” Kian said. “I’ve got coffee prepped,” he continued.

“Thank the Survivor,” Reyes groaned, dropping his head into his hand. “I can’t tell you the last time I was up this early.”

“Without being up the whole night, you mean?”

He nodded. Kian laughed and poured the man a cup of coffee. Reyes took a sip, careful not to burn his tongue, and took a moment to let the beverage revitalize him.

“Thanks for this,” he said, raising the mug. “Will you send up a fresh batch and some breakfast?”

Kian glowered at him. “I’m not your servant, you know.”

“But I do pay for the room,” Reyes replied.

“Fine,” the bartender huffed. He pointed at Reyes. “But not for you! That poor lass has to deal with your terrible mood, she should at least have some refreshments.”

Reyes smiled and took another drink of his coffee. He patted the bar top. “You’re a king among men, Kian,” he said, and then made his way back upstairs.

“Flattery doesn’t work on me!” Kian called after him.

“Liar!” Reyes shouted back. He heard some indistinct grumbles from below, and chuckled. He approached his door and paused before it. He had restored his tin reserves before bed, as was his custom, and burned them. He filtered out the typical bar sounds of sizzling meats and Kian’s humming, and focused on what waited for him in his room.

Ryder also hummed to herself. He didn’t recognize the tune, but he was surprised at the clarity of the sound. She would have a wonderful singing voice. He heard the sound of a page flipping, and then the scratch of a pen against it. Taking notes, then? She hadn’t brought a bag with her that he saw, so she’d probably helped herself to his desk, and maybe did a little snooping?

Reyes smiled. She was clever, which made her both a strong possible ally and extremely dangerous to his plans. Luckily there wasn’t anything too condemning in the desk. He doused his tin and knocked once on the door to announce his presence. She sat in much the same position as when he left, but she’d removed her mistcoat, which now dangled over the arm of the settee. She leaned over the coffee table, writing notes on a sheaf of paper as she looked over the blueprints.

She glanced up at him as he entered and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said, lifting the paper. “I think best in ink.”

He shook his head. “Not at all,” he said. “Food and coffee will be up shortly.”

She nodded and turned back to her notes. “I’ll need to do some scouting,” she murmured.

Again, he found himself wanting to offer to help her. As a tineye, he was especially good at scouting out sites before a job. It had been his first real job as a kid on the rougher streets of Elendel. But, again, he reminded himself that she needed to do this one on her own. He needed to see just how capable she really was.

She chewed the end of her pen for a moment, shook her head, and then scratched out a line she’d written a moment before. The food arrived a few quiet moments later, and the scent of bacon, eggs, coffee, and fresh biscuits with jam filled the room. Sara declined his offer of bacon or eggs, but she sheepishly took a biscuit and slathered it in the bright red jam. He poured a cup of coffee for her before plating up his own breakfast.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He nodded, and sat on the settee to focus on his meal.

“What do you get out of this?” She asked suddenly.

“Out of what?” He asked over a bite of bacon.

She rolled her eyes. “Out of setting all this up.” She gestured to the coffee table. “Helping me with this.”

“The angara want Terev,” he said. “But with Sloane ruling over the Port they can’t exactly post bounties for his capture.” He eyed her mistocat meaningfully.

“That’s why you chose me,” she said. “You saw me take the bounties off the board.”

He nodded. “I figured that meant you had at least a little experience, and might be open to doing the work the angara need.”

She nodded, her brow furrowed as she chewed at her biscuit. “How did you come to work for the angara?”

“Like I said, I’m many things to many people.” He shrugged and took another bite of his eggs. “I know people, have resources-”

“Like illegally obtained blueprints,” she teased.

He smirked and nodded. “Yeah, like that. Plus, I’m sympathetic to the angara. They lost their home to one threat, only to have it saved and then claimed by another.”

“I saw the destruction the Kett left behind,” she murmured. “Why hasn’t anyone tried to rebuild?”

He looked at her, surprised at the tenderness in her tone. He’d tried to play on his expectation that she’d be concerned with the well being of the people when he’d still thought she was a Pathfinder, but she’d shot him down with talk of compensation. But now she showed him that side he’d suspected was there all along.

He looked down at his plate. “How do you rebuild when you can barely keep your family fed?” He shook his head. “Sloane makes sure that her part of the Port is clean and cared for, protected,” he spat the word, like poison from his lips. “And that’s as far as most ever go. But down here? People are suffering, struggling just to survive, and when things get bad enough, we’ll turn on each other.”

She watched him, her blue eyes seeming to see through him in that moment. “You actually care about Kadara Port,” she said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. A realization that he might not just be a shady smuggler.

He couldn’t have that. “Sloane is bad for business,” he said. “There’s no coin in smuggling food to the hungry.”

She pursed her lips, displeased with his response. Which was the point. “Well,” she said, shuffling her papers and folding them. “Thank you for your help with this.” She gestured at the table and the blueprints still lying there.

“Anytime,” he said. He was surprised to find he meant it.

She stood and slipped into her mistcoat, tucking her notes into an interior pocket. “You’ll let me know if you get the bones?”

He nodded. “Can I bring them to the inn?”

“That’d be fine.” She adjusted her coat and then walked to the door.

Reyes wanted to open the door for her, wanted to see her out of the bar, and maybe even walk her to the lift if the street looked particularly menacing. He had to forcefully remind himself that the woman before him was a misting, and used to be second in command of a Pathfinder team. She was dangerous, she just didn’t look it in that damn outfit.

“Ryder,” he called as she opened the door. “Don’t be a stranger.”

She cocked her head to one side, a long strand of sandy brown hair falling from her bun to frame her face, and smiled at him. Then she left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

“Rust and Ruin,” he cursed, and slouched back into the sofa.

 

“I’m going out,” she said to the horse.

“Again?” Sam said over a mouthful of hay.

“I’ve got to do some scouting if we have any chance of getting Terev off the estate.” She rested her elbows on the stall door, looking over it at him.

“We?” He asked.

She smirked. “If Reyes is as good as he claims, I’ll have a fresh set of bones for you soon.”

The horse huffed, lips fluttering against one another loudly. “I have bones,” he complained.

Sara sighed. “I know, Sam. But we both know you can’t follow me around the Port in translucent skin with crystal bones underneath.”

“Humans are so sensitive,” he groused.

She couldn’t argue with that. She pat his neck sympathetically and turned away. “I’ll check in with you when I get back.”

“Ryder,” he said, stopping her. “If you’re going to keep wearing it, you should get the mistcoat tailored to you.”

Sara looked down at herself. Black pants tucked into her tall leather boots, black blouse, and her father’s mistcoat. It was the perfect ensemble for sneaking around a heavily guarded property. She shrugged. “It’s fine,” she said.

“It’s cumbersome,” Sam said. “The mistcoat should flow with you, an extension of yourself to dance with the mists, not weigh you down.”

She looked away from the kandra. The idea of altering the coat in anyway sent a physical shock through her, causing her stomach to roll dangerously. “I can’t,” she whispered.

Sam didn’t answer, and she thought that perhaps he hadn’t heard her, despite his superior hearing. “Alec wouldn’t mind,” he said softly. “You were right to take it, and so it would be right to make it your own.”

She kept her back to Sam, and swallowed at the ball of emotion in her throat. She nodded once, and then hurried from the barn and into the gathering mist. She could think about Sam’s words later.

She had work to do.


	5. Prison Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi all, so sorry about the delay in posting this. November is flying by and I can barely seem to keep up. Luckily, all the hard work for this fic is done. I just have to remember to actually share it with you guys!

 

As expected, getting on the grounds of the Outcast Headquarters wasn’t difficult. The guards patrolled the perimeter wall in strict routes, and they were typically alone. Perched on the top of the brick wall, Ryder had a good view of the vast, manicured lawns, and of the pacing guards. She timed their passing, dropped a coin, and burned Steel.

She didn’t wait for the blue line to flare to life to drop from the wall on the back of the property, the mists following her down. Her Steelpush was mild, slowing her descent so that her boots were silent when they touched the ground. The moon waned, its pale light doing little more than reflect off the gathering mist, but Sara didn’t need much light to navigate the grounds. Burning Steel gave her a unique vision of myriad blue lines that she could use to avoid anything made of metal. She crouched, hurrying across the wide lawn, away from Sloane’s makeshift prison.

Sara was tempted to scout the jail cell, but she didn’t want to alert Terev to her plans. If he knew he was about to be rescued, he would either get anxious or tell Sloane if he thought the angara were likely to be the worse fate. She would have to deal with the lock when she came to it. The real purpose of her visit was to see what Sloane’s guard retinue looked like, and get a better sense of the grounds, so she could map out their escape route.

As she sneaked over the lawn the mists coiled around her, cloaking her in shades of gray. Her allomancy traced two guards as they made their rounds, neither of them near her, so she picked up the pace and rushed toward the mansion. What she really needed was a better vantage point. Once in the shadow of the house, she dropped a coin and Pushed.

Sara rocketed straight up through the mists, the tassels of her mistcoat rippling as the wind enveloped her. She couldn’t resist the grin that claimed her face as she tilted it skyward; there was nothing better than soaring into the night sky by the sheer force of her Steel. But, it couldn’t last forever.

Once she was far enough from the coin she couldn’t Push on it anymore, and if she wasn’t directly centered over the coin she would shoot off at an angle. That wasn’t usually a problem, if she had enough coins to drop more, but an unexperienced Coinshot could find themselves pretty high up with no exit strategy in a hurry.

Thanks to her father’s training, Sara was far from inexperienced. She let her momentum fade until she slowed, and hovered directly above the coin. It was a move that took most Steelpushers decades to master, but Pathfinder Ryder had been relentless in the honing of his daughter’s allomancy, and this particular ability was her pride and joy.

To anyone with a mind to look up, Ryder floated far above the ground, the mists coalescing around her form as they always did when a misting burned their metals. She looked across the grounds, and was pleased with the vantage point she’d earned. She counted ten guards: four patrolling the wall, two at the front gate, two more at the front steps, and another two set to wander the grounds. It was the last two she needed to worry about. Their movements were more chaotic, less likely to be accounted for and planned on.

Reyes was right, Sloane was paranoid. But why? Sara turned her eyes on the mansion, and smirked. Maybe she could find out. She doused her Steel and let herself fall. The mists swallowed her in their cool moisture, her coat tassels flicking up in the wind of her free fall. As the lawn appeared through the mists she burned her metal again, slowing her fall and burying the coin further into the earth. She landed, harder than was ideal, and rolled with her momentum. She broke into a sprint, leaving the coin behind her, sunken into the dirt.

Once she had enough distance between herself and the coin, she jumped and Pushed against it, shooting up toward the mansion in a graceful arc. She landed softly on the stone balcony on the second level, and assessed the room beyond the twin doors.

Lines shimmered towards locks and pulls on the doors and desk drawers, but nothing moved. There was no light from within, and as she pressed her ear to the door, she heard nothing. Holding her breath, Sara tested the door, but it was locked. Focusing, she Pushed ever so slightly on the deadbolt on the door, until she heard a soft click. Hand on the door handle, she was about to step through into the room when she heard an angry voice.

“They’re getting bolder,” a man said.

Sara ducked to the side of the door frame and dropped another coin just as a lamp flickered to life, illuminating the room. She flared her Steel, Pushing herself up at a much faster speed than she usually did, until the blue line flickered out.

She’d used up her reserves.

Sara grappled with the roof, trying to catch herself soundlessly against the side of the mansion. She grunted softly as she collided with the masonry, but she was able to scrabble up onto the peaked roof.

“Shhh!” A woman’s voice interrupted. “Did you hear that?” her accent was thick from years spent in Elendel.

“Hear what?” The man asked.

Sara peeked her head over the edge of the roof, looking down onto the balcony. The door opened, and a woman stepped halfway out, her dark hair in narrow braids that hugged her skull. Sara held her breath as Sloane investigated the balcony. Ryder saw her stiffen as her eyes found the coin, and she pulled back just in time to avoid being seen as the woman looked up.

“Anything?” The man asked after a moment.

“No,” Sloane said and then there was a click as the balcony door closed.

“We need to do something about the murders in the Port,” the man continued.

“Half the Port thinks it’s the Collective,” Sloane said, her voice bored. “Let them take the blame.”

“The other half thinks it’s us, fear-mongering for higher protection fees.”

“These killings will sort themselves out, Kaetus,” Sloane said. “What we need to focus on is finding the Charlatan.”

“They’re a ghost,” Kaetus replied.

“All ghosts had a body once, right?” There was a smile in the woman’s voice now. “We just need to find theirs, and make sure they stay dead this time around.”

“You’re a cold, cold woman, Sloane Kelly,” Kaetus purred.

“You love it,” she replied.

That was Sara’s cue to make her escape. She pulled a fresh vial of metals from her belt, downing it silently despite the bitter warmth of the whiskey. Burning Steel again, she hurried to the opposite side of the roof to find a way down. She’d done more than enough reconnaissance, and left the estate with more questions than she did answers.

Who was committing the murders? Was this Collective responsible? And who was the Charlatan that Sloane was so afraid of them? With so many questions, Sara had no idea where to even begin.

But she had a good bet she knew a certain smuggler who would.

 

Finding an intact dog skeleton was much more difficult than Reyes had anticipated. It turned out that the angara were hesitant to part with the bones of a beloved pet, and it had taken more than his usual persuasive charm, and much more of his coin than he had been prepared to spend. Those bones better be vital to Ryder’s efforts to free Terev.

Around noon he approached the Aya Inn from the back, ducking into the side door and startling Paaran Shie in the kitchen.

“Stars, Vidal!” She gasped, clutching at her chest. “You could have knocked.”

He smiled. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Is Ryder in?”

The angara nodded, returning her attention to whatever simmered on the stove top; it smelled good. “Upstairs, fourth room on the right.”

He nodded his thanks and took the stairs two at a time. He knocked twice, and wondered for a moment if the woman had ducked out without Paaran’s notice. But then boots thumped across the floor and the door opened.

She blinked at him, obviously still half asleep. “Reyes?”

She wore a white shift over wrinkled black pants that her boots had been pulled on over, unlaced. Her long hair was down, cascading in a mess of waves that she brushed from her face as her eyes cleared. He leaned against the doorway and offered her the burlap sack he’d had slung over one shoulder.

“I have a present for you,” he said.

She took the bag carefully and peeked inside. “Already?”

He shrugged. “Since I was up so early, I was able to get moving on your request.”

She closed the bag and dropped it inside her door. “Thank you,” she said. “What do I owe you?” she turned toward her dresser.

He waved her off. “These have to do with Terev, right?”

She paused to consider him, and then nodded.

“Then I’ll just add it to Evfra’s bill.” He grinned; he loved pissing off Evfra de Tershaav, the current leader of the angara resistance in the Port.

“You’re sure?” Her voice was hopeful, but concerned. He’d figured she didn’t have much by way of coin when he saw her in Umi’s bar, and what little she did have would go to feeding that horse. He should find someone to buy the thing from her; it was an extravagance in a town like Kadara Port.

“I’m sure,” he promised. “Though I have to admit, I’m curious what use those bones could possibly have in your mission.”

She shook her head, a smile on her lips. “I told you, the less you know, the better.”

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. “You know that just makes me want to know more.”

She blushed. “Get used to disappointment,” she said.

When the silence stretched between them, Reyes changed the topic. “Looks like you had a late night,” he said.

Sara looked down at herself and her blush went from a pleasant pink to a marvelous crimson. “I, uh,” she swallowed against her embarrassment. “I scouted out the Estate last night.”

Reyes blinked. She’d moved quickly, much more quickly than he’d expected. “Oh?”

“Let me get dressed and I’ll tell you all about it,” she said, and closed the door in his face.

Reyes laughed and headed back downstairs to wait for the woman. A few moments later boots on the stairs announced her presence. He turned to peer over at her from his spot on Paaran’s couch. She wore a faded linen tunic that hung from her athletic frame, fresh black pants, and her knee-high boots were properly laced. She’d left her hair down and was shrugging into her mistcoat as she approached him.

“Are we going somewhere?” He asked as he stood to join her.

“You owe me a drink,” she said. “You left me with the tab at Kralla’s Song.”

He laughed, full and throaty. He’d wondered when she would bring that up. “I’m usually a perfect gentleman,” he replied.

She scowled at him. “Why don’t I believe you?”

He opened the door for her, and smirked as she passed him. “Because I’m lying.”

She shook her head, but chuckled, and Reyes knew this woman might cause him more trouble than he was prepared to deal with.

 

Sara opened the barn door and looked around. Sam looked over at her, for all the world a horse greeting his owner, and then he spoke.

“We are alone, Ryder.”

She stepped into the barn, closing the door behind her. “Good.” She reached his stall and held the sack of bones up for him to see. “Vidal was as good as his word,” she said. “How long will you need?”

He eyed the bag warily, displeasure looming in his large, liquid eyes. “Two, three hours,” he said. “Preventing interruption and stowing the horse bones are the bigger obstacle.”

“Leave that to me,” she said. “I’ve got a plan.”

The horse heaved a heavy sigh, but nodded. Then he tilted his head at her. “You’ve been drinking,” he accused.

Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t deny it. “Just a couple whiskeys.”

“Ryder, drinking alone is not healthy.”

She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t alone, Sam.” She kicked the stall door absently with the toe of her boot. “I was with Reyes.”

He blinked at her, the effect much more disconcerting in his horse form. Somehow it was that much more judgmental. “He is a criminal,” the kandra said.

“I’m aware,” she said, dropping the bones into his stall.

He eyed the bones, but didn’t let them distract him. “You should not form attachments here, Ryder. We are still returning to Elendel, aren’t we?”

She sighed. “Yeah, Sam. We are.” She watched him for a long moment, and then turned away. “You’ve got until sunset,” she said over her shoulder. “And then we go to work.” She didn’t wait for his reply before exiting the barn.

Sara tried to keep her temper in check as she headed back to the inn, but Sam had managed to get under her skin yet again. “He’s not my keeper,” she grouched as she headed up the stairs to her room. “And I’m not forming attachments. It was a couple drinks with…” she searched for a word to describe what Reyes was to her. “A coworker,” she said.

It just so happened that he was an attractive and charming coworker, but she was hardly attached. They’d only been in the Port for a few days, how could she be attached? No, she was more upset that Sam had the audacity to remind her of her promise to Scott than she was at his implication that she might have a more than professional interest in Reyes.

Scott. Sara sighed as she let herself into her room, resting against the door once it closed behind her. She really should write him. It had been months since she’d fled from the Basin, and though her brother had insisted she take Sam, she knew he would still be worried. It was just his nature.

Plus, Sloane was in Kadara Port. If she didn’t want to alert Nexus themselves, she could write to Scott and he would tell the proper authorities. But, did she really want Pathfinder teams descending on the Port? Did she want to invite that part of her life, the part she was trying to leave behind, to follow her trail?

No. She would help the Port on her own. She could do this. She looked out her window, which looked down on the barn, and checked the clock on the wall. She had a few hours before she needed to get ready, and she had been out late the night before. She sat on the mattress, and the huff that escaped her settled it; she was taking a nap. She collapsed back onto the bed, and let her mind go blank until sleep claimed her.

 

The mists were out in force tonight, and Sara smiled at them as they curled and coiled around her. Steel burned comfortably in her stomach, warming her and settling her nerves as she made her way through the Port. The familiar blue lines loomed through the dark, guiding her as she Pushed her way through the city. Her mistcoat flapped in the wind as she soared from one roof to another. Below her, nearly hidden from view thanks to the mists, Sam ran along at a comfortable lope.

Sara landed on the last roof in the row of buildings she’d used to cut through the city, and crouched to peer over the edge. The street below was empty, and the wall adjacent to her was the only thing separating her and the Mayoral Estate. Sam caught up to her, his shaggy dog’s face staring up at her with a grin. The kandra was happiest when he could attend her on her outings, part of why he hated the horse bones so much. As graceful, swift, and practical as the animals were, they weren’t known for following their masters everywhere. But a dog? Well, it was still demeaning to a kandra with his own skeleton, but it allowed him to move much more freely. It would do for now.

Sara dropped a coin to the street and stepped off the roof. The blue line solidified as she Pushed against the metal and slowed her descent. She landed silently beside Sam and then hurried to hide in the deepened shadows near the Estate’s wall. She gestured for Sam to follow her, and the pair scurried around the property until she was in the same spot she’d used the night before. Her scouting told her that Sloane’s prison would be a few hundred feet to the West of her, the Mansion much farther, and the guards concentrated at the entrance further still.

Another coin and a Push sent Sara up into the mists. She grappled with the edge of the wall, and hauled herself up onto its ledge. A moment later and Sam was with her, having leapt the ten foot wall with ease. Kandra only relied on bones for the shape and appearance of their bodies, everything else they had creative license. Which meant that Sam could adapt and shift the dog’s musculature to allow for increased speed, strength, or agility, depending on their needs.

She might have found the creature disconcerting, found his personality irritating, but he was rusting useful.

She pointed at the shadowy structure just visible through the mists. “That’s the prison,” she whispered. The dog nodded once. “Patrol,” she said. “Bark twice if there’s trouble, and then cause a distraction.” She took a deep breath and put the steel into her words. “I’m not leaving without Terev.”

The dog nodded again, then bounded off the wall and down onto the grounds. Sara watched his progress through the mists for a moment before pulling a vial from her belt and downing its contents. Fresh Steel burned hot in her belly, replenishing her stores, and refreshing the pale blue lines that filled her vision. Sara released another coin and dropped down off the ledge.

The mists followed her, shrouding her in their cool, tender embrace. At a crouch, she hurried in the direction of the prison, her mind following the blue lines that moved. None of them were near enough to see her through the mists, and none of them were drawing nearer. She was in the clear.

There was one guard on duty in front of the prison. He hadn’t been there the night before, which wasn’t a good sign. Sloane was even more paranoid. She would have to poke around and see what had set the Outcast leader on edge, but for now she needed to deal with the guard.

She tossed a coin behind her, the blue line angling perfectly, and Pushed. Sara launched up and over the small prison, her feet finding the ground with a soft thump. The guard turned, the blue lines attached to him spinning through the dark, but he was too late.

Sara threw a handful of coins in the guard’s direction and Pushed. She was never fond of using her allomancy to hurt others, but she didn’t have much choice now. The coins flew away from her, her superior weight the driving force behind them, until they collided with the guard. There were several sickening thuds as the coins found flesh, and then guard grunted and collapsed.

Sara crouched, and waited. The blue lines attached to his pistol and his belt buckle didn’t stir. There was no movement from the other lines in the distance to announce that the guards had been alerted. With a steadying breath Sara turned to the prison door.

It wasn’t locked, which seemed oddly lax for Sloane. Sara’s senses were on high alert as she entered the small makeshift prison, but nothing moved nor lunged at her from the dark within.

“Who’s there?” a deep voice called from behind heavy steel bars.

She approached, her focus on the heavy padlock that dangled from the cell door. She smiled at the thick blue line that connected it to her. “I’ve come to get you out of here.”

The angara blinked at her, his wide, dark eyes distrusting. “Is this some sort of joke?” he snorted. “Tell Sloane she’ll have to do better than that.”

Sara focused on the delicate locking mechanisms, using all her hard earned finesse to tumble the locks. The padlock snapped open, making Terev flinch as it dropped to the floor. Sara grinned. “If I have to tell Sloane anything, we’re both in big trouble.”

He stared at her. “Who are you?”

She shook her head. “No one, but the angara want you for themselves.”

Terev sneered. “So I’m trading one prison for another.”

She glared at him and flared her Steel, slamming the cell door open with a clang. “Sloane wants to put your head on a pike. The angara might actually give you a trial. Which would you prefer?”

They stared each other down, the shadows adding to the tension. Finally, Terev sighed and stepped out of the cell. “Now what?” He asked.

“Now we get out of here.” They stepped out into the mists, Sara about to congratulate herself on another successful job, when two sharp, loud barks echoed over the grounds.


	6. Murder Most Foul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Can you believe we're on Chapter 6 already? I can't! Thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos and/or comments. You all made my week last week, that is for sure.
> 
> I also want to give a slight content warning: this chapter does contain some potentially graphic depictions of body mutilation. I think they're canon-compliant for both Mistborn and Mass Effect, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.
> 
> Thank you, and I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

 

“Harmony!” Sara spat. She grabbed Terev by the arm and pulled him after her.

“What’s happening?” The angara whispered harshly, fear making his breath ragged.

Blue lines soared out around her in a semi-circle, four guards headed their way. For now, with the moon so weak and the mists so prevalent, she was confident that they hadn’t been spotted, but something had alerted them. Probably her show of force on the jail cell door; her temper getting the best of her yet again.

“Shut up and follow me,” she said. She needed to keep this quiet. She could take out a guard or two with her coins, maybe a third with her knife, but the fourth would be a problem. She was armed, in case things really got out of hand, but neither her shotgun nor her pistol were exactly subtle. A single gunshot would alert the entire Estate to her presence, and bring the full force of Sloane’s Outcasts down on them.

She crouched, Terev mimicking her as they hurried away from the prison. She took a handful of coins and moved through the mists like a shadow. She found one guard, the shimmering blue line attached to his pistol warning her that he was much too near. She gestured for Terev to stay still, dropped a coin, and flew.

She arched up out of the mists to land feet first against the guard’s back. He cried out in shock, but she stifled it with a quick jerk and snap of his neck. Sara’s stomach rolled dangerously, but she kept control. The other allomantic lines turned in unison at the sound of their comrade’s death, though she could tell from their hesitance that they couldn’t see her. She prowled through the mists, towards her next target. He went down much the same as the first.

The last two guards had found one another. It was smart of them to team up, and highly inconvenient for Sara. She had been able to use the cover of the misty night to her advantage, but two against one was never good odds. And where was Sam? He was supposed to be creating a diversion for her.

She used her allomancy to Push herself up into the air, trying to get a lock on the two guards, but the mists helped them as much as they did her. She stared down as she hovered, watching the allomantic lines move closer and closer to her. She waited until they were below her, and then doused her Steel.

She fell straight down, the heels of her boots planting on the shoulders of one guard, forcing him to his knees. The second guard spun, the mist swirling, but Sara burned Steel and Pushed the pistol from his grip. A shocked cry left his lips, and then an anguished one as a giant hound leapt from the mists. The dog’s jaws found his throat and silenced the man, just as Sara snapped the neck of the guard beneath her.

Panting, she stood and burned Steel, searching for any other wandering guards. Everything was still, even the mists seemed frozen in the air around her. She closed the eyes of the guard at her feet, and then nodded for Sam to follow her. She hurried back to Terev, and clapped a hand over his mouth before he could yell at the sight of the giant dog as it appeared through the mist.

“He’s with me,” she whispered. She jerked her head toward the front of the property. “Come on.” The front gate was not an ideal exit strategy, but she didn’t want to linger on the grounds with five guards dead. It was only a matter of time before they were found, and then the entire estate would be on high alert.

Steel burning, she pulled Terev after her and kept an eye on the allomantic lines as they appeared. Flickering lamplight lit the front walk that led to the mansion, but the light just reflected off the mists, obscuring them further. As they reached the gravel drive, Sara looked back in time to see Sam slink off through the mists, towards the house.

“Sam,” she called, her voice low and worried. She was certain his sensitive dog ears would hear her, but he didn’t reply nor reappear. “Rust and Ruin!” She cursed, but kept toward the exit. She didn’t exactly have a plan for taking out the two guards stationed there, but she still had her boot knife.

Luckily, she didn’t have to use it. A cry went up from behind them, and Sam let out several menacing barks.

Sara hauled Terev down behind a stone fountain with her as the two guards from the gate ran past them to investigate. Sam was giving her the distraction she needed to get Terev off the property, but she feared the kandra wouldn’t be able to escape. “Harmony help me,” she mumbled. She couldn’t leave Terev, for fear he would take the opportunity to flee. She grabbed the man’s wrist and took off toward the gate at a sprint. “Come on!”

They ran, and when they reached the gate, Sara grinned. It was ornate, with swirling loops and twirls that mimicked the mists. It was gorgeous, a testament to the wealth of the person that resided within. And it was made of wrought iron.

Sara flared Steel, burning the last of the reserves in her belly, and shoved against the gate. Normally, the force would have shoved her in the opposite direction, since it was heavier than her, but the strength of her flare knocked the gate open just far enough for the pair to squeeze through it. She didn’t bother closing it behind them, and hurried down the streets, Terev in tow.

Sara had spent most of her time in the Port exploring its streets at night, and from a much higher vantage point. She had a good grasp of its shape and layout, but running through the roads and alleys in the dark of night was somewhat disorienting. Especially when all she could think of was Sam taking on six of Sloane’s Outcasts on his own.

She turned another corner and froze, faint moonlight glinting off something at the end of a dark alley. Terev nearly knocked her over, but she kept her footing as the man bent over, his hands on his knees, and tried to catch his breath. She downed a vial of Steel, the last that she’d brought with her, and burned it. Metal at the end of the alley, moving in a steady pacing motion. The thick line denoted something larger than a pistol, probably a rifle.

Sara stepped into the alley, making no effort to hide herself.

“Don’t move,” a deep, accented voice commanded.

She stopped, hands raised. “Are you with Tershaav?” She asked.

There was a soft grunt. “You’re the one Shena found?”

She nodded, hoping that the mists didn’t obscure her too much.

“Where is the traitor?”

Without bidding, Terev stepped forward. “I am here, Jaal,” he called.

The anagara contact, Jaal, growled as he stepped into the light. He was tall and broad, his deep sepia skin making friends with the shadows even as the mists seemed to highlight it. “If it weren’t for Efvra I would have killed you by now.”

“I do not doubt it,” Terev said.

Jaal turned dark eyes on her, full of distrust and something like respect. “The angara deserve to implement their own justice. You have helped us do that. Shena will have your reward, Basiner.”

She nodded that she understood, and ushered Terev to the man. She waited until the pair were out of sight, and then turned to run back toward the estate. Burning Steel she Pushed off a metal fire escape, the force hurtling her down the alley. Her boots met a brick wall, and she kicked off it to angle herself towards the next street. Using a mixture of structures and coins, Sara bounded through the city, until she heard a cheerful bark from below her.

She dropped from the balcony she’d landed on, barely slowing herself on the coin she’d dropped. “Sam?” She whispered into the mists. The dog materialized from the swirling, white mist looking no worse for wear as he padded over to her. Sara dropped to her knees and hugged the kandra around his shaggy neck. “I’m so sorry I left you,” she mumbled into his fur.

“That was the plan, was it not?” He said. “I was to cause a distraction so that you could get Terev off the grounds.”

She released her hold on the dog, and nodded. “It was,” she agreed. “I just hadn’t expected to dislike it so much.”

The dog panted, a grin on its face. “Perhaps you are growing fond of me.”

She rolled her eyes as she stood, brushing gray hairs from her black shirt. “Don’t hold your breath,” she said. She worried that she actually might be getting attached to the creature, but she could hardly let him know that; he was bold enough in offering his opinions to her. She stepped into the mists, the hound following her on silent paws.

“I do not necessarily require lung functionality,” the kandra reminded her. “Kandra can restructure and repurpose our bodies. We are even capable of forgoing sleep for years if necessary.” If she wasn’t mistaken, it sounded as if the kandra was bragging.

Sara sighed as she walked down the street. “I know that, Sam. It’s just an expression.”

“I see,” the dog mused. “One to indicate that I should not expect the outcome I suggested?”

She suppressed a groan. How had the kandra lived among humans for hundreds of years and still be so disconnected from them? “Yep,” she said as she stepped up onto the porch of the Aya Inn. She heard the scrape of dog nails on the wood and shot a glance back at Sam.

“Where are you going?”

He paused, golden brown eyes watching her. “Is it not customary for canines to reside with their masters?”

“It is,” she admitted. “But as far as Paaran knows, I don’t have a dog. I have a horse.”

The dog let out an agitated huff. “Ryder, it took me hours to create this body, and that was a fraction of the time needed to create the horse.”

She grinned at him and paused with her hand on the door. “Good thing you can stay awake for years, then!” she stepped into the parlor, unable to discern the low grumble that was muffled through canine lips, but Sara figured it was something fairly unpleasant.

Sam turned and headed toward the barn, and Sara locked the door behind her before heading up the stairs. She really needed a bath, but it was far too late to wake Paaran Shie with the racket that would cause. So, she settled into her room, disrobed, and collapsed onto the bed.

Despite her usual discomfort in the foreign room, Sara soon fell asleep, the evening’s adventure more than enough to exhaust her.

 

Shouting and screaming woke her only a few hours later. The sun was up, but still low in the sky, having just crested the mountains that separated Kadara Port from the rest of the Roughs. Groaning, Sara climbed out of bed and threw on the black tunic from the night before, as well as the pants. Her boots she tugged on, but left unlaced, and she didn’t even bother taming the long, wavy locks of hair.

She hurried down the stairs, the inn still dim with only a few lamps lit. “Paaran?” She called, but there was no response. Heart thundering in her chest, Sara flung the door open to find a crowd of people gathered in the street in front of the inn, all looking at something in the middle of it all. She scanned the crowd, and let out a relieved sigh when she spotted Paaran among them.

“What’s going on?” she asked the angara as she jogged over to her.

Large brown eyes, wide with fear, blinked at her. “There’s been another murder,” she said.

That pulled Sara up short. A murder? In the middle of the street? And there had been more than one? She gently nudged her way to the front of the throng and stared down at the body. It took all her control not to recoil at the sight. It was a gruesome scene, and it had been a highly unpleasant death.

The angara before her lay face down in the dirt, blood pooled out from underneath him to coagulate with the dust of the street. Sara knelt and carefully turned the man over. Dark, wide eyes stared up at nothing as the body settled onto its back. He was cold, but not quite stiff yet. Long hair in thick ropes framed his face, and Sara thought that he would have been handsome in life, with a full mouth and a delicately sloped nose.

But now he was mangled, deep slices traced up his arms, over his chest, and finally to his throat. Blood splatter on the ground and the red-soaked clothing meant he’d been alive while he was cut. Sara shuddered, but didn’t look away.

Murmurs rolled through the crowd, those gathered doing their best to make sense of what they saw.

“Sloane should do something,” one man snapped. “Why pay protection fees if we can be slaughtered in the streets?”

“That’s why she’s doing it,” another said. “To charge higher fees.”

“You’re both fools,” a woman griped. “It’s the Collective. They’re getting ready to move against the Outcasts.” That sent the whole crowd into loud chatter, the theories getting wilder as they did. A hand on Sara’s shoulder startled her, but she looked up to find Paaran staring at the corpse.

“Did you know him? Sara asked.

She nodded. “Maaren Shol,” she whispered, still looking at the body, as if transfixed.

Sara stood, pulling Paaran after her. “Does he have any family?”

Another nod. “His mother lives in the slums,” she said. She took a shaky breath, but seemed to pull herself together. “I will inform her.”

Sara nodded. “There have been other murders?” She gestured for Paaran to sit in one of her porch chairs, and the woman obeyed, still dazed.

“Yes, but they’ve all been Basiners. There have been no angaran victims before.”

Sara chewed her lip. She had a lot of questions, but Paaran was in no condition to answer them, plus she had her people to think about. Sara eyed the sun, trying to gauge the time. It was early, and she doubted Reyes would appreciate the visit, but she needed to get her payment for the Terev job, and talk to him about these murders.

She crouched in front of Paaran, a gentle hand on the woman’s knee. “I have to go see Reyes,” she said. “Will you be okay here?”

Blinking, still seeming disoriented, the angara nodded.

“All right,” Sara said, patting her knee. “I’ll be back.” She briefly considered stopping by the barn to let Sam know where she was going, but it had only been a few hours since they’d returned. He’d be part way through constructing the horse body, and she had no interest in witnessing that if she could avoid it. So instead she made her way to the lift, burning the small amount of Steel she had left from the night before.

 

Reyes stood over the desk in his room at Tartarus, reading over reports from Evfra de Tershaav, his lieutenants in the Draullir caves, and from Keema Dohrgun, his lieutenant inside Outcast headquarters. All the reports said the same thing, more or less. That Sara Ryder had managed to steal Vehn Terev from under Sloane’s nose in the cover of night. No one had seen her and survived, though five guards had been killed on the grounds. Their bodies had been cloaked in mist, only discovered once the sun had burned through the fog.

He couldn’t be happier. Ryder had proved herself more than capable. She was efficient, discreet, and apparently comfortable with killing anyone who got in her way. Reyes realized he had underestimated her; he wouldn’t do it again. He turned to eye the thick envelope that rested on his coffee table behind him. Ryder’s payment had come along with Tershaav’s report, and he knew it was just a matter of time before the woman came to collect.

He sighed, looking back at the sheafs of paper littering the desk. He feared she might take the money and run. She was a traveler, she’d told him as much when she’d mentioned her past three months in the Roughs. She’d bounced around the towns and villages, taking on the role of bounty hunter when she could. Her nomadic lifestyle coupled with the news of her father’s death led Reyes to think she was running from something, though he wasn’t sure what.

All he knew was that he couldn’t let her get away yet, she could prove too important to his ambitions. So, he needed something to keep her in the Port, something to invest her in their plight against Sloane. He perused the Draullir reports and smiled. There’d been a murder further down the coast, a Basiner that had set up a small homestead beyond the reach of the Port, beyond Sloane’s protection and watchful eye. It was just one more in a slew of murders he was sure the Roekaar were responsible for. The anti-Basiner group had developed out of the outrage surrounding Sloane’s takeover, and as her tyranny continued, the group grew in tenacity and power.

Reyes understood why the angara were angry, but the Roekaar murdering Basiners wasn’t the right way to handle things. Kadara Port’s citizens needed to work together, not kill each other in the streets. But, he didn’t have any proof, and any unsolicited action against the Roekaar on his part would only add fuel to the fire.

But, if he could get Ryder to investigate a few leads, find the evidence he needed, then they could make a move and restore some sense of order and safety to the Port. Reyes shoved away from the desk to pour himself a glass of whiskey from the decadent decanter Kian had left for him. The glass was at his lips when there was a knock at his door.

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, and went to answer it. He was shocked to see a very disheveled Ryder waiting on the other side.

“Ryder,” he said, his dark brow furrowing. “Is everything all right?” Her hair was down, the long locks wavy and wild. Her black, over-sized tunic was untucked, and her black pants were soiled with grass stains and smudges of dirt. Even her boots were unlaced, pulled up over her pants hastily. But the thing that worried him most was that she didn’t have her mistcoat, or her belt with her vials of metal shavings with her.

For her to show up at his door at this hour, looking like she did, something terrible must have happened.

“Can I come in?” She asked. Her normally raspy voice was weary, and Reyes stepped back to let her into the room. She noticed the whiskey on the table and looked at him with an arched brow. “A little early for the hard alcohol, isn’t it?”

He smirked. “Not if you haven’t slept yet.”

She nodded and slumped onto the settee. Without asking, he handed her his glass, and she took it wordlessly. He watched her as she sipped at the drink, suppressing her shudder at the bitter finish, and then poured a glass for himself.

“What’s going on, Ryder?” He asked, leaning against the bed frame across from the settee.

She swirled her whiskey, her blue eyes fixed on the whirlpool of liquid within. “There was a murder outside the inn this morning,” she said.

Reyes froze. It took all of his considerable control not to grin as he watched the concern flood her eyes. He hated that people in the Port were dying, but he could not have orchestrated a better set of circumstances. He sent up a silent thanks to the Survivor, and took a drink of his whiskey. “Tell me everything.”


	7. Chapter 7

 

Reyes listened to Ryder’s account of the murder. An angara victim was a clever play by the Roekaar, and if he didn’t find evidence against them soon he feared they might get an even stronger foothold in the Port. Between the Outcasts, his endeavors with the Collective, and the Roekaar, there wouldn’t be room to maneuver. He needed to act now.

He finished his whiskey off as Ryder finished her tale. “Paaran is right,” he said. “There have been other murders, all with the same pattern. Bodies left out in the open, sliced up and bloody, and no sign of who did it or why.”

“But this is the first angara,” she said, fiddling with her empty glass. Her eyes were hollow, with dark circles under them. Judging by her successes the night before, and the early hour, he figured sleep had been fleeting for her.

He nodded. “It is. They’re trying to throw off anyone who might be looking too closely.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why? Murders out in the open like this, you’d think they’d want the credit.”

Leaning against the bed frame, Reyes crossed one leg over the other. “Not if the goal is to sow distrust.”

“Some of the locals think it’s Sloane, trying to use fear to warrant higher protection fees.” Her eyes watched him, waiting for his reply.

He shook his head. “I don’t buy it. This is more trouble than Sloane wants.”

She nodded, and leaned forward to pour another glass. She raised the decanter and arched a brow at him, but he declined.

“I have a three drink maximum when I’m working,” he said with a grin.

She shrugged with a ‘suit yourself’ expression and leaned back into the settee. “I overheard Sloane and her second the other night,” she admitted. “He’s worried about the audacity of the killings, but she’s convinced they’ll sort themselves out.”

He snorted. “Typical Sloane.”

Blue eyes locked onto his from over the rim of her glass. “She’s more concerned with finding the Charlatan.”

He was too practiced to let his muscles tense, but her gaze unsettled him nonetheless. There was no way she could know, there weren’t enough pieces to put together, let alone in so few days of knowing him. But her stare was so serious that Reyes found himself wishing he’d accepted her offer of another drink.

“Sloane’s naturally paranoid, and the Collective has grown in the past few months.” Neither was a lie, but it was damn vague. He hoped Ryder wasn’t as good at reading people as he was.

“What do you know about them?”

He shrugged. “They’re a secretive bunch,” he said. “No one knows who the leader is, but rumors around the slums paint the organization in a favorable light.”

“How so?” Her interest was concerning, but there was no good way to change the subject. At least this way he could control how much information was true.

“Anonymous donations to the medical clinic to keep the doors open, supply donations to both the clinic and the soup kitchen.” He paused, settling his empty glass on the coffee table before leaning back against his bed and crossing his arms. “I’ve even heard tales of Collective agents moving against the Oblivion dens.”

Her head tilted to one side. “Oblivion dens?”

“It’s a highly addictive drug derived from local plant life. Outcasts control its production and sale,” he said. He didn’t have to fake the dark fury that tinted his voice. “It’s named for the sensation it offers, and for the high mortality rate of its users.”

She chewed at her lip, seeming to weigh his account of the Collective against what rumors she had heard herself. Hopefully his good leads on the inn and the Terev job had earned her trust.

He nodded at the coffee table. “That envelope is yours,” he said. “From Tershaav for a job well done.”

She took the envelope and discreetly checked the contents. Her eyes widened and her lips parted slightly at the thick stack of bills, but she gathered herself quickly and tucked the envelope into the waist of her pants. “What do you know about this Charlatan?”

Rust and Ruin, he thought he’d distract her with the cash, but it seemed Ryder was determined to learn everything she could from him. “Almost nothing. Like I said, no one knows who they are, not even their own agents. I tried approaching one once and all they said was that the Charlatan would contact me if I proved worth their time.”

“And did they?”

He chuckled. “No! Apparently they don’t have any use for a lowly smuggler like me.”

She rolled her eyes and finished off her drink. “The murders could be the Collective,” she said. “Trying to undermine Sloane.”

That was the opposite train of thought that he needed. The last thing he wanted was a Pathfinder’s daughter digging into his organization. “I don’t think so,” he said after a moment of pretending to think it over. “It’s just not their style. Killing and leaving the bodies behind in broad daylight? The Collective likes to move in the shadows, in and out before you know they were there.”

Those watchful eyes held his for a moment, and he feared he’d said too much. But, she eventually looked down at the coffee table, releasing him from her gaze. “If it’s not Sloane, and it’s not the Collective, who then?”

“The Roekaar,” he said. It took immense control to keep the grin from his face as he explained the anti-Basiner group to her. “I’ve lost contact with a prior client,” he said. “Man by the name of Zaer, has a homestead further up the coast.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Rumor around the slums says he was killed, and I know he had trouble with some of the locals.” It was a creative spin on the events, to be sure, but it would all add up for Ryder in the end.

“You think it was the Roekaar?”

“Zaer’s a Basiner, and I know there was some contention over his building a home that far from the Port.” He ran a hand through his hair, playing up his concern for the cantankerous old man. “It fits the Roekaar theory, but without proof we can’t do anything.”

“I don’t know, Reyes,” she said, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table, her arms crossed behind her head. “If it’s this anti-Basiner group, why kill Maaren Shol?”

She might not be a Pathfinder, but Reyes was certain she’d paid attention to her old man. That or she was just naturally that nosy. “I’ve got a theory about that,” he said. Which he did. “I’ll look into it while you check out Zaer’s place.”

She frowned at him, and for a moment he thought she might refuse him. “What’s in it for me?” She asked.

Survivor curse this woman. “Ryder,” he said, his tone apologetic. “You’re not exactly loved here. Try as you might, people see that Pathfinder badge and they think you’re Nexus, and no one in Kadara Port wants them here.”

“So, what? I do this to earn my way into some good graces?”

“I’m just saying you could use a few points in your favor. And you could use a friend.” He smiled at her, not too bright, but soft and genuine. “I can be that friend.”

Those bright eyes stayed on him for a long moment, and then she rolled them with a frustrated huff. “Fine,” she growled. “Where’s this homestead?”

Reyes let his grin claim his face, and gave her the directions.

She stood and headed to the door. “I’ll check it out today,” she told him. “I’ll tell you what I find over drinks. Your treat.” She winked at him, and let herself out, with Reyes laughing at her back.

 

Sara hadn’t expected the day to be so warm. Even the sea breeze offered little relief as she and Sam made their way down the coast toward the location Reyes had given her. The cliff of Kadara Port sloped down to turn into rocky beaches the further south they traveled, and soon even the cobblestones and polished pebbles turned to sand and rolling dunes. It was on one such hill, covered in the hardy scrub of coastal plants, that a small house stood overlooking the sea.

“This human was very determined,” Sam said. She glanced down at the dog, surprised by his suggestion.

“How do you figure?”

“He built his home far from others, but facing the ocean. He could have saved himself much trouble if he’d built it facing away, allowing the wind to flow over it.”

She nodded. “Instead he built into the wind.”

“Precisely.” Sam cocked his head, his floppy dog ears perking up at some sound. “There is livestock still on the property,” he said.

Sara frowned. “So, he wasn’t killed for his resources.” She sighed, and pulled a vial from her belt to down the contents. Then she pulled her pistol from under her mistcoat. “Smell anything worth noting?”

Sam took a moment, his long snout raised to sniff the air. She couldn’t smell anything besides the salt of the sea and the oddly green scent of seaweed. “Blood,” he announced a moment later.

She nodded that she’d expected as much. “If this murder is anything like the one this morning, it’s going to be pretty gruesome in there.” She took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for what waited within, and then stepped onto the porch.

The door hung from its busted hinges, the room beyond dark. Her allomancy pointed to quite a few metal items, but nothing within moved. Her pistol at the ready, Sara nudged the door open with the toe of her boot and scanned the room for any signs of life.

The smell hit her first. The heat of the past few days, coupled with the closed windows and semi-closed door had turned the house into a sauna. That meant that Zaer’s body had decomposed that much faster. The stench filled the little house, thick enough in the air that she immediately wanted to vomit. Sara pulled her tunic up over her nose and stepped further into the building.

The house was a mess. Furniture lay scattered, much of it in pieces, and shattered dishes crunched under her boots. It looked like a violent robbery, but she couldn’t be sure if anything was missing. Zaer lay in the center of the room, on his back. Blood splattered the walls, floor, and even the ceiling. The man’s clothes were the dull, rust color of dried blood, and his skin, where she could see it, had been flayed open.

She let out a shaking breath. “Definitely the same people.” She approached the body slowly, her pulse pounding in her head as she tried to calm herself. He was dead, she couldn’t help him, but she could do whatever it took to make sure no one else had to suffer the way this man had.

Blank blue eyes stared up at her as she peered down at the corpse. “Sam,” she said. “Find anything?” The hound marched around the perimeter of the room, his nose to the ground.

“Diplazium Dizone oil,” he said, his voice muffled as he snuffled against the floorboards. “More commonly referred to as Death Root.”

She stared at him. “What’s that?”

“It is a ceremonial oil, used in the purification process before certain angaran rituals.”

“How do you know that?”

The dog glanced at her, his head tilted. “You are not the only one capable of eavesdropping, Ryder.” He went back to his sniffing. “Paaran Shie uses the oils before her evening prayers,” he added.

Sara chewed her lip. She didn’t think Paaran had anything to do with the murders, not if her reaction to this morning’s killing was any indication. The oils must be a common practice among the angara. But, Zaer was a Basiner. He wouldn’t have any of the oil.

“Is the scent strong?” She asked the kandra.

“To me,” he said. “However, you would probably describe it as faint. It was not here long.”

Sara circled the corpse, her Steel burning, and caught a glint of metal reflecting sunlight from under the only chair left upright. She noticed it because it didn’t have the telltale blue line attached to it.

“Aluminum,” she whispered. She hurried to the chair, and knelt before it, using her pistol to drag the metal out from under the chair. A long knife, it’s blade wavy and thin, gleamed in the sunlight, and no matter how she focused on it, no allomantic line would come from it. It was allomantically inert, meaning it was made from aluminum or one of its alloys.

Sam padded over to her, his tongue lolling as he looked at the wicked blade. “These symbols on the hilt are Selesh,” he said.

She eyed him. “How could you possibly know that?”

He sat, his posture stiff and prim, even for a dog. “The angara have existed here since before the time of the Rejuvenation,” he said. “Their language is not unknown to me.”

Sara’s jaw fell open, and her consternation boiled. “You’re just now telling me this?”

Somehow, the dog managed to shrug, a stiff jerk of his canine shoulders. “You did not ask.”

She groaned and stood to find a towel. “You sound like Dad,” she said. She snatched a towel from the kitchen counter and used it to wrap the sharp blade before she stuffed it in the inner pocket of her mistcoat.

“I take it you do not mean that as a compliment,” the kandra said as it followed her out onto the porch.

Sara sighed. “Dad was a lot of things,” she said. “Vague and smug were among them.”

“He was also intelligent and dedicated.”

“He sure was,” she agreed. “To his job.”

There was silence for a moment. Sam lifted his nose to the sea breeze, and then looked at her. “Your father loved Pathfinding,” he said. “After your mother…” the dog trailed off.

“I get it,” she snapped. “He couldn’t handle it. He threw himself into his work just to survive.”

“Not unlike running to the Roughs,” the kandra murmured.

He had her there. She ran her hand through her hair with an agitated huff. “This knife should be enough evidence for Reyes,” she said, ending their discussion. “Let’s get it back to him and see what our next move is.”

“Of course, Ryder,” Sam said. His voice was subdued, but gentle. His poking and prodding were good natured, his attempts at getting her to confront her demons. But she didn’t have the patience for a heart to heart discussion about her dead parents and her dereliction of duty in the middle of a crime scene.

At least, that’s what she told herself as they started the long walk back to the slums.

 

A knife. She’d found a ritualistic dagger at Zaer’s house, with a Selesh prayer engraved in the hilt. If that wasn’t proof positive of his Roekaar theory, he didn’t know what was.

“Believe me now?” He asked her, a dark brow lifted. He pointed at the knife. “Do you know what that says?”

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. He didn’t think Ryder so inexperienced that the old man’s murder would affect her so much, but she’d been distracted and listless since her return from the coast. How gruesome had the murder been?

“It says, ‘one land, one people,’” he explained. “It’s a Selesh saying, referring to the angara and the land surrounding Kadara Port.”

She nodded, but didn’t say more. Reyes frowned and sat beside her on the settee. “If it matched the other murders, Zaer must have been cut up pretty bad.” He eyed the knife, the line of dried blood still visible on its blade. “You all right, Ryder?”

Her eyes snapped up to his. “I’m fine,” she said, shaking her head. She grabbed one of the whiskey glasses from the table and poured herself a drink. She said she was fine, but Reyes noticed the faint tremor in her hand as she poured.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have gone with you. I just figured, with your Nexus background, this wouldn’t be all that new to you.”

Her face scrunched up in confusion. “What?”

“I didn’t expect a murder scene to upset you so much,” he clarified.

She snorted. “Zaer’s body was no worse than Maaren’s this morning.” She took a long pull from her glass.

He watched her, fascinated by the motion of her throat as she drank. He shook himself from the view and considered the woman. “If not the murders, what’s got under your skin?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped, pouring another glass. She glanced at him and caught his disbelieving look. She sighed. “Fine. It’s not the murders.”

He waited, determined to give her the time she needed to open up to him. He wanted her to trust him, needed her to trust him if she was going to help him overthrow Sloane. But, Reyes was not a very patient man. He leaned forward to pour himself a glass. With his drink in hand, he rested his elbows on his knees.

“It’s not the murders…” he prompted, bumping her knee with his.

She sighed. “It just,” she paused, looking for the right words. “It brought up some unpleasant memories.”

He tilted his head, the goggles that rested there nearly falling off. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment. He was pretty sure she alluded to her father’s death, but as far as she knew, he didn’t know about that. He couldn’t dig further, couldn’t even bring it up until she did.

She shook her head again and rubbed a hand over her face. “It’s not your fault. And you’re right,” she said.

“Oh?” He gave her a winning smile. “I do like being right.”

She rolled her eyes and finished her drink. “These murders have to stop,” she said. Her voice was hard, her gaze far away as she stared through the coffee table.

He poured her another whiskey and clinked his glass to hers when she took it. “Lucky for us, I didn’t just sit around while you were at Zaer’s.”

She raised a delicate brow at him. “Oh? What did you do? Besides drink whiskey.”

He chuckled at her mischievous smirk. “I found where the Roekaar are hiding.”

She stared at him for a moment and then grinned. She tapped her glass to his one more time, and they both drained their tumblers. She hissed as the bitter liquor burned its way through her digestive tract, and even he winced slightly; not Kian’s best, he decided.

She grinned weakly. “When do we go after the bastards?”


	8. Teamwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I can't believe we're almost halfway through this adventure already! I want to say thank you to everyone who read and commented so far, and don't forget that your comments and kudos count toward Blacksheep's epic giveaway at the end of the year! 
> 
> Now then. Who's ready to see our Battle Couple in action?

 

As usual, Reyes was early. He had told Ryder the when and the where of their meeting, a secluded cave system north of the Port at noon, and he was there almost an hour early. He was a tineye by nature, and a planner from experience. Tin burned comfortably in his stomach, his goggles in place as he approached the caves. The swells of waves crashing on the shore thundered in his ears, but the sound was soothing, settling his heart rate as he reached the site of their showdown.

He lifted the goggles off his eyes and onto his head, allowing his enhanced vision to peer into the shadows. There was nothing lurking, no Roekaar lying in wait, which meant he had the perfect opportunity to set his trap. It always paid to be prepared, and arriving early was all part of his plan.

It took the better part of the hour, but the charges were set around the cave. His amplified senses helped him discover which routes through the caves were used most, allowing him to concentrate the explosives around the tunnels the Roekaar were most likely to use. He tried to settle his nerves, but he was always anxious before a mission. And this time there were a lot of unknowns, especially for him.

Ryder was the biggest one. Would she show up? What was her fighting style? Did she prefer close quarters, or did she hang back, opting for precise kills rather than overwhelming displays of force?

The scuff of a boot outside the cave told him he was about to find out. Reyes ducked back into the dark of the cave, preferring to wait to make his presence known. He kept burning his tin and listened to Ryder as she entered the cave.

“Stay back,” she said, her voice low. “He still doesn’t know about you.”

Reyes tilted his head, eyes closed to focus on her words. She’d brought her mysterious companion?

“Why do you prefer to keep me a secret?” A muffled voice asked. “Has Mr. Vidal not proved a reliable ally?”

He smirked. He had certainly tried to prove himself as such.

“So far,” Ryder said. “But I’m not sold yet. I like having an ace in my pocket if necessary.”

Her companion huffed. “That is a reference to a card game, yes?”

Sara sighed. “Yes, Sam. And before you ask more questions, I’m heading in. Wait here, and keep out of sight,” she commanded.

There was no reply, which he took to mean that her partner had obeyed her. Reyes listened to her footsteps draw closer. Her breathing was heavy, but even. She was anxious too. He opened his eyes in time to see her illuminated in a spotlight of sunshine that filtered through a hole in the ceiling of the cave. With his tin burning the sunlight played with the gold in her hair, and lit her pale face, revealing the light freckles on her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose. Things he never would have seen before, and things he shouldn’t be paying attention to now.

“Stop right there!” A sharp, accented voice called to Ryder. The voice echoed through the cave, resounding in Reyes’ ears, making him wince. He burned his tin a moment longer, looking for the source of the voice.

An angaran woman, tall and muscular, stepped out of the shadows, a wicked grin on her face. “Ah, the Pathfinder,” the woman snarled. “You’ve been putting your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Sara rolled her eyes. “I’m not a Pathfinder,” she said.

The angara woman barked a harsh laugh. “You expect me to believe that?”

Ryder crossed her arms and cocked one hip. “It’s the truth, but I doubt that really matters to you.”

“You’re right. All that matters is that you’re yet another Basiner come to carve out a piece of Kadara Port for yourself,” the woman said. She unsheathed the knife at her hip, the twin of the aluminum knife Ryder had found yesterday.

“Scars,” Reyes cursed. Ryder wouldn’t be able to Push against that.

The Roekaar stepped closer to Sara. “But now we have you here, and I get to carve that pretty skin of yours.”

That was his cue. He pulled out his rifle, resting the barrel against a boulder, and took aim. “Not so fast!” He shouted. The Roekaar and Sara both whirled, looking for him through the dark. He doused his tin and took his shot. The rifle boomed through the cave, reverberating off the cavern walls as his bullet knocked the blade from the angara’s hand.

She cried out, more shocked than hurt, and Reyes sprinted to Ryder’s side to take cover behind another rock formation.

“You’re late!” Ryder accused as she joined him, bullets ricocheting off their cover.

“I have a good reason,” he said with a grin. “I promise.” He steadied his rifle on the boulder and turned his sights on the long fuse he’d hidden against the far wall of the cave. The shot rang through the cave again, and the gathering Roekaar ducked for cover, but Reyes didn’t care about them at the moment.

He watched the fuse catch and burn its way to the charges he’d planted. “Get down!” he pulled Ryder back down, his arms over both their heads as three explosions detonated, rocking the cavern. Both tunnels collapsed, trapping the Roekaar in the cave with them.

Sara stared at him for a moment, and then leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “You’re forgiven,” she said, and then she pulled something from her pouch, dropped it, and soared up into the air. It took him a moment to realize it was a coin, pressed to the cavern’s stone floor by her weight as she Pushed against it. He watched her leap and fly, her momentum building as she angled herself off walls.

When the Roekaar all found cover, Ryder did something he’d never seen before. She dropped a coin beneath her, Pushed up, and then Pushed a coin up to the ceiling of the cave, pressing herself between them so that she hovered in mid-air as if weightless. The height advantage gave her a view of every angara in the room, and she dispatched them with even more coins flying out from her in every direction.

Reyes watched in awe. He’d seen Coinshots in action before, but he’d never seen anything like this. Ryder was phenomenal, pulling off stunts and moves he’d never even considered possible. As she flew, her mistcoat tassels flapping behind her, Reyes almost believed she was the Ascendant Warrior reincarnated.

Movement on the ground pulled him from his reverent staring. The Roekaar leader ducked from cover to cover, keeping out of Ryder’s line of sight. She crouched through the stream of sunlight that had illuminated Sara only a handful of minutes before, and the rays reflected off the polished metal of the blade of her knife. The aluminum knife he had shot from her grip.

Instinctively, he tapped his bronzeminds; he needed to be at his best for this shot. A mistake here would be unforgivable. He balanced his rifle against the boulder, lined up the shot, and fired. The sound vibrated through his chest even as the bolt-action rifle kicked against his shoulder. Sara dropped from where she’d been hovering, and for a gut-wrenching moment Reyes thought he’d shot her.

But no, the angara woman collapsed and blood poured from her chest; his aim had been true. Sara had ducked for cover, unsure of the origin of the rifle shot. Reyes took out another Roekaar hiding near one of the collapsed tunnels, and then the cavern fell silent.

Ryder poked her head out from cover, long strands of her sandy brown hair falling from her braid. Wide blue eyes looked back at him. Then she smiled, and a strange warmth blossomed through his chest. Reyes cleared his throat and nodded at her, before moving off to inspect the damage his explosives had caused.

Sara moved about the cavern, searching the pockets of the dead Roekaar. He wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but it wasn’t like he’d never stolen from those he’d killed. A few minutes later she moved off from the cooling corpses and gathered up any of her coins she could find.

Reyes cleaned up any lingering evidence of his dynamite, and turned to find Ryder approaching him. “The streets of Kadara Port are safe again, thanks to you,” he said. He couldn’t help the smile that claimed his face. “I’ll be sure to let all the important people know who to thank.”

She grinned, and Reyes thought he could get used to her looking at him like that. “You helped,” she said. “We make a good team.” Her expression sombered slightly, like she wasn’t used to enjoying her work with someone else.

“Careful,” he said. He held her gaze as he stepped past her, intentionally brushing his shoulder against hers. “I might start thinking you like me.”

She tilted her head, those loose strands of hair framing her face, and smirked. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

Reyes searched her face. Was this simple flirtation, or something more? He hoped it was something more, even as he scolded himself for it. “Depends,” he murmured. “Don’t be a stranger, Ryder.”

He refused to look back at her as he made his exit. He felt her gaze on his back, and he desperately wanted to see the look in her open eyes, to know what she really thought of him. But it was better this way, he was certain. Let her come back to him if she would.

 

Sara stepped into the large basin of hot water and sighed. After the day she’d had, a bath was just the beginning of her rewards. Maybe she could talk Paaran into opening one of her bottles of wine later.

“You and Mr. Vidal worked well together,” Sam said from where he lay by the door.

Sara groaned and let her head fall back onto the edge of the tub. She’d almost forgotten the kandra’s presence in the luxury of the bath.

“It has been months since you worked with anyone besides myself,” Sam continued.

Sara shrugged. “I think he must have worked with Coinshots before. He knew to hang bag and pick off anyone I didn’t.”

“His rifle sounded impressive.” Sam’s voice sounded a touch bitter. “These ears are more sensitive than I realized.

She looked at the shaggy, gray hound. “Did it hurt you?”

Sam shifted a shoulder, his equivalent of a doggy shrug. “Initially. I repaired the damage and then removed the ear drums temporarily.”

Sara chuckled and shook her head, refocusing on relaxing in the steaming water. She was familiar with kandras abilities, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be impressed by Sam’s creativity and ingenuity. He had been her Father’s right hand man for a reason. She should probably trust him more, be nicer to him, but he’d been there. He’d seen what happened to her father. That he still followed her, still listened to her commands…

“Why’d you come with me?” She asked him suddenly.

He tilted his head, large ears flopping. “Because Scott asked me to.”

“Simple as that, huh?” She lathered soap into a cloth and scrubbed at her skin. She couldn’t look at Sam just then.

“Should it be more complicated?”

“You saw what happened on my last mission, with Dad,” she murmured. “Why would you agree to follow me after that?”

“Because kandra must fulfill their contract,” he said. “My contract started with your father, but he was a clever man, and paid for my services to your house. As long as a Ryder remains in Elendel, I will serve your family.”

“So you had to follow me, because Scott told you to.” She let her hand fall back into the water with a splash.

“In part,” the kandra admitted. “However, I am glad he asked me to accompany you.”

Sara frowned at the water, the froth of the soap bubbling into nothing. “Why?”

“Because I grew to respect your father,” Sam said. His voice was heavy, full of reverence and remorse. “And I believe he would want me to help you in any way that I could.”

Sara swallowed against the lump in her throat, unprepared for the strength of emotion Sam’s words brought on. She nodded, knowing the kandra watched her, and hurried through her washing. Once the water started to go cold, she stepped out of the tub and dried off. Sam rested his head between his paws, looking for all the world like the dutiful hound protecting its master as he lay on the bright blue rug before the door.

Perhaps that wasn’t such incorrect description of him. She would endeavor to treat him better, she decided. But first, she needed to get dressed and get some food. She stepped to the door, and opened it a fraction to make sure the hall was clear. Sam stood to get out of the way as Sara wrapped a plush white towel around herself and then hurried across the hall to her room.

She wound the towel around her hair, twisting it to sit atop her head as she rifled through the dresser. A fresh white linen tunic and denim riding pants would be comfortable enough, she decided. She had just finished buttoning the pants when there was a knock on the door.

“Just a moment,” she called, nodding for Sam to hide under the bed. He was a little big to do so quickly, but the kandra morphed his body slightly to ease the action. Once he was hidden from view, Sara opened the door to reveal Paaran Shie.

“Ryder,” she greeted. “I just wanted to ask if you preferred chicken or beef?”

Sara blinked at the angara woman. “Uh… what for?”

Paaran laughed. “For dinner!”

“I mean, why are you asking me?” Sara clarified. “I’ll eat whatever you cook, Paaran. Everything has been delicious so far,” she added when she thought the words came across a little ungrateful.

Paaran smiled, her dark eyes glittering with pride. “Thank you, Ryder. But, I wanted to make something special for you tonight. Word around the Port is that we have you to thank for finding and clearing out the Roekaar that were behind the murders.”

Sara shook her head. “Reyes helped,” she said.

Paaran’s face took on a knowing look. “I’m sure he did,” she said. “Now, chicken or beef?”

“Uh… beef?” Sara answered.

“Perfect!” Paaran crowed. “I’ll get started right away. In the mean time I’ve opened a bottle of wine and set out some cheese downstairs.”

Sara was about to decline the offer when her stomach growled. She blushed as Paaran laughed, and decided that an evening getting to know the woman couldn’t hurt. “I’ll be right down,” she said. She thanked the angara and closed the door.

“Shall I return to the barn, then?” Sam asked as he slunk out from under the bed.

Sara uncoiled the towel from her hair, using it to tousle it dry. “Which bones do you prefer?” She asked after a moment.

Sam blinked at her, surprised at her question. “I prefer _my_ bones,” he said. “But if I must choose, then the dog bones. It’s much less suspect if I accompany you as a dog than a horse.”

“I agree.” She ran a hand through her hair and then headed toward the door. “I’ll stow the horse bones tonight, and tell Paaran about you tomorrow. Sound good?”

The kandra watched her for a moment, and then nodded once.

She smiled at him. “I’ll bring some dinner up for you too,” she said, before ducking out of the room to enjoy Paaran Shie’s celebratory dinner.

 

Sara had planned to keep a low profile while in the Port, but Reyes had apparently told everyone in the the city about her help with the Roekaar. When she went to Kralla’s to try and listen to the idle bar chatter she’d been given a wide berth, but also had multiple drinks purchased for her. And she’d even caught Sloane’s eye.

Kaetus, the woman’s right hand man, approached her at Kralla’s Song one day, and said that Sloane had a job for her.

Sara eyed the man, tall and wiry, with a deep voice. “And why would I want to do a job for Sloane?” She asked, before sipping her whiskey.

Kaetus leaned his elbows on the bar, lowering his voice. “Rumors about you are all over the Port. Sloane wonders if you live up to them.”

Sara raised an eyebrow. “Hoping to get the ex-Nexus on her payroll?”

He grunted. “Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe she needs someone without any ties to the gangs to do some good for the people.”

Sara let a sly grin claim her lips. “You mean, someone she knows isn’t Collective.”

Kaetus turned a cold blue eye on her, weighing her up. “Is she right?”

“I owe allegiance to no one,” Sara said, and shot back the last of her drink. “Is she paying?” She asked when she set the glass onto the counter.

Kaetus smiled. “Of course.” He gave her the details of the job, rooting out some defected outcasts from the caves further down the coast. “Who knows,” he said once she’d agreed to the work. “If this one goes well, there could be more work for you, Ryder.”

She shrugged, unwilling to commit to the vague promise of more work, and turned away from the man. She was done talking. He watched her for a moment, and then left the bar. Umi, the bartender, gave Sara a wary eye.

“Gonna find yourself in Sloane’s pocket, Nexus?”

Sara signaled for another drink and smirked. “I don’t think Sloane’s pockets are deep enough for that.”

But, three weeks went by, and Sara found herself taking more and more work from Sloane. She still hadn’t met the woman, and she had turned down some of the work Kaetus brought her, but if the job and the pay was good, she found she had a hard time telling the Outcast leader no.

It was the last job that finally did it, though. She’d been tasked with clearing out a rogue Oblivion den. Sloane controlled the production of Oblivion in the Port, and this den in the slums was operating without her blessing. Sara didn’t agree with production of the drug at all, but figured any action against its use was a good thing.

She hadn’t realized what she was walking into. Oblivion was all that Reyes had described and more. When Sara burst into the building, mistcoat tassels rippling in her wake, no one moved. Bodies lay strewn across pillows as fragrant, sickly sweet smoke filled the room. She made her way through the dim space, the light flickering from lamps running low on oil, and checked on the people before her.

There were Basiners and angara alike, and half of them weren’t breathing. How long would they lay here, going cold while those around them chased them to their deaths? Reyes had said that the drug was named for its effects, including its tendency to lull its users to their death, but she hadn’t imagined the scope of it. She’d pictured one or two people using in secluded corners, not entire buildings full.

She wanted to help the people, but there was only so much she could do for them. Sloane should be helping these people, but the woman didn’t care about the slums unless they infringed on her rule. Fury burned through her as she stalked toward the back of the building. Steel burned in her belly, and she Pushed on the metal door handle, slamming the door open and startling the thin man beyond it.

“R-Ryder,” he said, cowering. “Please, I just-”

“Get. Out,” she growled. “If I ever see you near Oblivion again, I won’t be so forgiving.”

“Of course,” he stammered. “Thank you. T-thank you!” He ran past her, and he cried out when he stumbled over someone in his path.

Sara turned her attention to the distilling apparatus before her. It was a complex device made of metal and glass, with beakers on burners, bubbling softly. With a furious shout she Shoved against the metal components, toppling the cooking station. The chemicals caught on fire almost instantly, and she stood vigil until she felt confident that the last of the Oblivion had burned off.

She doused the flames with a nearby bucket of water, no doubt kept there in case of emergency, and then turned to leave, ignoring the way her head spun and her eyes drooped. She could worry about the effects of breathing in the fumes later. Right now, she needed to do something about Sloane’s malignant neglect.


	9. Oblivion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Y'all. I love this chapter, like... so so much. I hope you do too!

 

Reyes hadn’t seen Ryder in weeks. He tried to ignore how much that bothered him, to ignore the way his stomach fluttered every time someone knocked on his door, only to plummet when it was Kian or some client. When news of Ryder’s work for Sloane trickled in, he tried to reason with himself. She hadn’t been working for the Collective, she’d worked for money and for the safety of the Port. Sloane could offer similar jobs, and he was sure that was what convinced Ryder to take them.

That’s what he told himself, but he couldn’t help the crippling thought that perhaps Sloane had brought her into the fold. If the woman could bring Ryder into her organization, that was just one more weapon in her arsenal against the Collective, a weapon he had wanted for himself.

But, Reyes forced himself to be patient. He had worked well with Ryder, letting her see him as more than just the charming smuggler, but someone who cared about the Port, and maybe even her. If her words in the Roekaar cave were any clue, she would come back to him. He just had to wait.

But, when he received news that one of his shipments had gone missing, and that his ex, Zia Cordier was most likely behind it, he knew he needed outside help. This wasn’t Collective business, he couldn’t pull agents for this, but he’d made a mistake when he let Zia too close. She knew his patterns and his methods, if he tried to take her on his own, she would meet him head on. Reyes didn’t like to be too straightforward, if he could strike from the shadows, from behind, he was that much more likely to win.

And he needed to win this.

He read over the report again, only convincing himself even more that this was Zia’s work. He needed a third party, someone the woman wouldn’t expect. He needed Ryder.

There was a knock at his door, startling him. He ran a hand through his hair, quelling his frustration, and went to open the door.

“Ryder,” he said, smiling. “I was just thinking about you.”

She smiled back, the expression slow and lazy. Not like Ryder at all. “Good thoughts, I hope,” she said. Her words were slurred.

Reyes frowned at her, and gestured for her to enter the room. She moved past him, and he smelled smoke, sweet and cloying. He closed the door and scowled at her. “Ryder,” he called to her. She stood in the center of the room, gazing around it as if she weren’t completely sure where she was. He grabbed her wrist and turned her to look at him. “Ryder,” he snapped. “Oblivion? Seriously?”

“It’s not what you think,” she slurred, dropping her head into one hand.

“I think you’re high on Oblivion,” he growled.

She blinked at him. “All right. It is what you think. I can explain.”

He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t believe she would use the drug by her own choice. She liked a drink now and then, but she was professional, wanted her head clear most of the time in case trouble came calling. “I’m listening,” he said when she didn’t start talking.

“Sloane had a job,” she said, her voice rough. “Take out a rogue Oblivion den in the slums.”

He watched her, but she kept her face down, away from his prying gaze.

“I knew it was bad, knew Oblivion was terrible, but I didn’t know,” she took a shuddering breath. “I didn’t know how bad, Reyes.”

She looked up at him then, and he was amazed to see she was crying.

“There were so many people. People Sloane should be helping, and instead they’re lying there dead!”

So, she’d seen her first Oblivion den, that didn’t explain why she reeked of smoke and was high out of her mind. “What happened next?” He asked gently. She was emotional and her senses were dulled by the drug, a dangerous combination for a Coinshot of her calibre.

She sobbed, and then took another breath, trying to settle herself. “I destroyed their lab and burned all the Oblivion away.” She trembled before him and he thought her story was over. She shuddered and continued, “then, when it was all gone, I doused the fire and left all those people there.” She looked at him, her blue eyes shimmering and hopeless. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she sobbed. “They need help, but Sloane doesn’t care, and I can’t move them all.”

He stepped toward her, taking slow steps so as not to startle her. He reached for her shoulder, and she flinched when his fingers brushed against her mistcoat.

“Don’t,” she whispered. She turned away from him, her shoulders shaking with silent sobbing.

“Ryder,” he said softly. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not you, it’s the Oblivion.” It affected everyone differently, though most were calm and drifting he had heard of people having bad experiences, with racing, ugly thoughts. It seemed she was experiencing the latter.

He reached for her again, settling his palm on her shoulder softly. She didn’t pull away from him, so he pulled her around to face him. “I’ll get them help, okay?”

She nodded, but didn’t look at him.

“Will you wait here while I get them help?” She was in no shape to make the trip back to the Aya Inn, addled as she was, she would be mugged long before she made it to the lift. _If_ she made it to the lift.

She nodded again and he guided her to the settee. “Wait here, okay? Sleep if you can.” He waited for her to meet his eyes, and she nodded. Her expression was pained and confused; Reyes did not envy her whatever the Oblivion had conjured in her mind.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised. He watched her for a moment until he was sure she’d receded far enough into herself that she wasn’t likely to leave, and then hurried down to Kian.

“Did Ryder find you?” The bartender asked over the din of the music. “She looked pretty messed up.”

He gave a curt nod. “I’ll explain later. Right now I need agents to search every rogue Oblivion den in the slums.”

“What?” The bartender froze, his hand still inside a mug he’d been drying. “Why?”

“She just destroyed one, and there are people dying inside,” he growled. “I’ll explain the rest, _later_.”

Kian nodded, and made to follow Reyes’ orders.

“Kian,” Reyes barked. “Have water and some soup sent up. Please,” he added.

The bartender nodded again, and then vanished into the back of the bar. Reyes hurried back up to his room and didn’t need to burn tin to hear Ryder crying inside. He opened the door to find her rocking, arms wrapped tight to herself.

“It was my fault,” she cried. She repeated the words like a damning mantra. “It was my fault.”

He pushed the coffee table back so he could kneel in front of her. “Ryder,” he said, but she didn’t seem to hear him. “Sara. Sara, it’s Reyes.” He reached out and took her face in his hands, very, very slowly.

She flinched and blinked at him. “Reyes?” She asked after a moment.

He nodded. “Do you know where you are?”

She stared at him for a moment and then looked around the room. “Tartarus?” She said after a minute. “But, we were just,” she stammered, her brow furrowed. “Dad was just…”

“Do you remember the Oblivion den?” He said softly. “Sloane’s job?”

Her eyes returned to his face, and then her face crumpled as a fresh wave of tears hit her. “All those people,” she said.

He hushed her, and ran his fingers through her hair, tucking the loose strands behind her ears. “It’s okay,” he promised her. “They’re getting help.”

She nodded and took another deep, shaking breath. “What’s happening to me?”

“You inhaled Oblivion smoke,” he told her. “You’re dealing with the effects.”

She shuddered and pulled her coat tighter around her. “How long will they last?”

His mouth twisted, he’d hoped she wouldn’t ask that. “Depends,” he said. “Could be a couple hours, or all night.”

She shivered even as sweat beaded on her brow. “I can’t stay here,” she said and tried to stand.

“Ryder.” He pushed her back down onto the settee. “You are in no shape to go anywhere.”

“But, Sam,” she mumbled from behind the collar of her mistcoat. She’d pulled the coat as far up as it would go. “He’ll be worried if I don’t come home.”

Who was Sam? “I’ll send word to Paaran Shie not to expect you back tonight,” he offered.

She watched him for a moment and then nodded. “Will you tell her to tell Sam?”

Reyes lifted an eyebrow. “She knows where he is?”

She nodded. “He’s in my room.”

Both eyebrows shot up. He hadn’t thought her companion was that sort of companion, especially not after their flirtations.

She laughed at his shocked expression, and the sound was at odds with her feverish appearance. “It’s not like that,” she said. “He’s my dog.”

“Your dog?” Maybe the Oblivion was doing more to her head than he thought.

Her expression sobered suddenly. “He was my dad’s…” she trailed off into a pathetic hiccup, and then the weeping started all over again.

Reyes sighed. If this conversation was any indication, he was in for a long night. There was a knock on the door, and Sara startled, a sad little cry leaving her lips as she pulled the mistcoat up around her.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “It’s just the food I asked for.” He went to the door and was surprised to see Kian on the other side carrying a large tray of food.

He stepped into the room and set the tray down on the coffee table. A carafe of water, two bowls of steaming potato soup, and a loaf of crusty bread filled the room with a delicious aroma. He knelt before Ryder, catching her eye. “Hey, Lass,” he greeted softly. “You hungry?”

Reyes bristled slightly, but set his jealousy aside when Ryder nodded. Kian was his best friend, and his interests lie beyond women.

“Do you think you can hold the bowl yourself?” The bartender asked.

She looked at the bowl he held, and then a tremor wracked through her, bringing on fresh tears as she shook her head.

“Hey,” Reyes soothed as he sat beside her, rubbing his hand up and down her back. “That’s all right.” He gestured for the bowl from Kian. The bartender gave him a shocked look, and Reyes glared at him. “I’ll handle it, Kian. Thank you.”

The bartender nodded once and then patted Sara’s knee. “You’ll be all right, Lass.”

She nodded, but her expression could only be described as glum.

Reyes watched Kian’s back as he walked away. “Did we get those people help?”

Kian paused in the doorway, looking between Reyes and Sara. He nodded after a moment. “Evacuating them as we speak. The clinic will be busy tonight.”

“Thank you,” Sara murmured.

Kian smiled at her. “Think nothing of it.”

Reyes swirled the spoon through the thick soup, letting it cool before he tried to get Ryder to eat it. He looked up at the bartender, who still stood in the doorway, his head tilted, as if he couldn’t quite fathom the sight before him.

“Will you send word to Aya Inn that Ryder won’t be back tonight?”

“Of course.”

Ryder’s head snapped up, her eyes darting around until they found Reyes, fear leaving them wide and bright. “Sam?”

He still didn’t understand who Sam was, or what he had to do with her father, but if it would ease her worry, so be it. “And make sure Paaran tells Sam, so he doesn’t worry.”

Kian opened his mouth, about to ask who Sam was, but Reyes shook his head sharply. The bartender paused, and then nodded again. “I’ll make sure Paaran and Sam know you’re in good hands,” he told the woman, and then stepped out of the room, his eyes lingering on Reyes as he shut the door behind him.

Once they were alone Ryder slumped against the back of the settee, all her energy having gone to sitting upright and trying to follow their conversation. “That smells so good,” she moaned, with one hand over her eyes.

Reyes looked around the room and realized all his lamps were lit. “Is it too bright in here?”

She nodded soundlessly, still unwilling to peer out from under her hand.

He set the bowl down and moved around the room, dousing the lamps until only one remained, low and flickering. He burned his tin slightly, allowing his sight to pierce the shadows and keep her flush features in focus. Then he helped her eat most of her soup before she passed out on his couch.

Once his own dinner was finished he considered moving her to his bed, but he figured waking there would be a little too disorienting. Plus, if he was being honest, he wasn’t too keen to give it up, and he doubted she’d look kindly on sharing.

So, he unlaced her boots, tugging them off her calves to rest at the side of the settee and then stretched her out on the sofa. He snagged a spare pillow from his bed, as well as the heavier blanket he rarely used, and did his best to make sure she was comfortable.

Then he settled in to go over some reports from his lieutenants and watch over the woman. If her restless sleep was any indication, he would have to tap his metalminds before long so he could keep an eye on her condition. Usually Reyes wasn’t one to play caretaker, but as he watched her brow furrow and heard her soft pleas as the Oblivion seeped its way into her dreams, he couldn’t bring himself to care much about anything else.

 

Pounding behind her eyelids forced Sara awake. Sunlight streamed through a sagging shutter, pooling on her face most unpleasantly. She frowned, her eyes determinedly still closed, and rolled over. Where she had expected more mattress, there was only air. She yelped as she fell into a heap of blankets onto the worn floorboards.

A loud crash nearby only added to the painful thudding in her skull, and then warm amber eyes were above her, concern lurking behind their caution.

“Reyes?” She frowned, struggling to untangle herself from the blanket as he helped her up onto the settee. She was in his room at Tartarus, apparently having slept on his sofa, judging from the pillow still wedged against the armrest.

“Take it easy,” he said, his voice low and soothing as he sat beside her. “It might take some time for your memories to catch up.”

Sara wrapped the blanket around herself, pulling it tight as she tried to put the pieces together. “I was at Kralla’s,” she started. “And Kaetus had a job for me, the Oblivion den…”

He reached out to her, as if to rub her shoulder, and then thought better of it.

“Oh,” she whispered, the thoughts flooding back to her. She’d burned it all, stood there seething and watched it go up in flames. Even before she’d left the den she’d realized the mistake she’d made. She wouldn’t be able to make it back to the inn before she lost herself to the drug, so she’d gone to the nearest place she thought she might be safe.

Sara looked around the room, noted her boots standing neatly beside the settee and the rag that lay in a bowl of water on the coffee table. Apparently her instincts about Reyes had been right.

She couldn’t look away from the towel and the bowl, emotion building in her throat. “You took care of me?” She asked, her voice rough with sleep and unshed tears.

Reyes cleared his throat. “You show up at my door high on Oblivion? I can’t let you wander around and get yourself killed.” He smirked at her. “Or ruin that sparkling reputation of yours.”

She snorted, shaking her head, which was a mistake. She groaned and dropped her face into her hands. “I feel like I was pummeled by a Koloss,” she mumbled.

He chuckled and stood to fetch a glass of water, which he handed to her. “I don’t think most folks who use that much Oblivion ever let themselves come down,” he admitted. “You had a rough night.”

She groaned again. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“Don’t be.” Golden eyes watched her, waited for her to look at him. “You saved a lot of lives last night, Ryder. More than Sloane ever would.”

She sighed and nodded. The memories from the night before were hazy once she reached Tartarus, but the dreams were still vivid in her mind. Or rather, the nightmares. She would bet good money she’d talked through the night, thrashing and crying, and yet Reyes didn’t look like he’d missed a minute of sleep.

“Still,” she said after a moment. “I owe you one.”

He grinned at her. “I was hoping you’d say that. Though, I didn’t help you in hopes of earning your debt,” he added quickly.

She gave him a glare, but there was no heat behind it. “What did you need?”

He leaned against the bed frame and crossed his arms, his customary appearance for talking business. “A shipment for a client has gone missing. They paid for discretion, which given my rates, is a lot,” he said.

“You want my help tracking it down.”

He nodded. “Glad to see the Oblivion didn’t have any permanent effects.”

She shrugged, letting the blanket drop from around her shoulders. “Where do we start?”

“I have a lead on who might have intercepted the shipment. When you’re ready, meet me at Kralla’s.” His voice had lost the jovial tones of Reyes her friend, taking on the cool and calculated tones of a man who meant business. He turned to his desk and rifled through the papers there, obviously eager to get back to his work.

Sara took the hint, pulling her boots on and lacing them quickly. “I’ll meet you there this evening,” she said. She stood and started to fold the blanket she’d used.

“Don’t worry about that,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll send it down for washing.”

She nodded, unsure how to react to the sudden shift in his mood. She let herself out, but paused in the doorway to look at him.

“Reyes?” She called.

He looked up from his desk, and the whole night’s worth of exhaustion seemed to have caught up with him in those few moments. His face was ashen beneath the tan of his Terris-blooded skin, with dark circles giving him a sunken, almost wilted appearance. But, his eyes, though weary, were still warm as they flickered over her face.

“Thank you,” she said. “For last night.”

He smiled and blinked lazily at her. He swayed slightly as he nodded, the only thing keeping him upright his white-knuckled grip on the back of the chair before him. “You’re welcome, Sara,” he said.

She blinked at his use of her first name, but she supposed after the night they’d shared, he’d earned its use. She didn’t want to delay his much needed sleep any further, so she let herself out and hurried through the bar and out to the slums.

Besides, she had a lot of explaining to do to her worry wart kandra.


	10. Missing Shipment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the late post, but it was my birthday yesterday, and after my 12 hour shift I took the time to have a little celebratory dinner. Then passed out :( I woke and realized that I'd forgotten to update this fic!!! For shame!
> 
> You'll notice that the illustration in this chapter is not at the top of the fic. I'm trying something new, and putting them in where they fit in the story. Let me know what you think!
> 
> And of course, thank you so much to everyone who has commented, left kudos, or bookmarked this story. You're all rockstars!

Sara went to Kralla’s Song that evening, Sam padding along behind her, his dog tongue lolling good-naturedly. Her boots thunked on the wood planks of the porch, and she nodded towards the bench that rested outside the bar, below a window.

“Wait here,” she said.

Sam raised a furry eyebrow and sat on his haunches.

Sara sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, yes. Reyes knows I have a dog, but that doesn’t mean I can take you into a bar.” She glanced at the door to the establishment warily. “Plus, if you’d met the bartender, you wouldn’t risk crossing her.”

The dog huffed and moved to lay beneath the bench, grumbling as he settled his head on his front paws.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re so dramatic,” she complained, and then stepped through into the bar. Kralla’s Song looked dingy and worn on the outside, and in most respects, the inside matched. The floorboards were made of the same dry, salt-streaked wood as the porch and creaked just as ominously under her boots. The lighting was minimal, small oil lamps at the center of each table, all of them mismatched, and a few larger lamps at the bar and the doorways gave the whole establishment a dim, flickering atmosphere that opened its arms to trouble.

But all of that was overshadowed by the incredible view afforded by the entire back wall of the bar. There was a balcony, framed by two open air windows that looked out from the jutting cliff-side of the Port onto the ocean. The breeze filled the bar, bringing a freshness that was decidedly at odds with the decor. The first time Sara had laid eyes on that view it had made her stomach do anxious flips. Now it brought a smile to her lips as she noted the swirling pink and orange glow of the sunset.

Movement at the bar distracted her from the view, and a familiar head of perfectly coiffed dark hair only widened her grin. Reyes’ back was to her, and judging from Umi’s dour expression, he was giving the bartender his best lines. Sara approached the bar and crossed her arms as she leaned against the counter. “You look like you’re waiting for someone,” she said.

Reyes stiffened, and then turned to set glittering amber eyes on her. “Hey,” he said. “That’s my line!”

Umi groaned, wiping at the smooth bar top with a ragged cloth. “Get a drink, or get a room before I vomit.”

Sara blushed and Reyes smirked at her before turning back to the bartender. “Actually, we’re here for information.”

The woman set hard, dark eyes on Reyes, her hand stilled on the bar. “That’ll cost more.” She glanced at Sara and added, “a lot more.”

Reyes sneaked at glance at Ryder. “My friend’s good for it.”

Sara glared at him, but Umi was unrelenting. Sara groaned and pulled a wad of bills from the small satchel on her belt. “You owe me, Vidal,” she growled.

He shot her a bright smile. “You’re someone I will gladly owe a favor,” he purred.

Umi made a gagging noise, pulling both their attentions back to her. “What do you wanna know?”

“Zia Cordier been in lately?” Reyes asked, leaning an elbow on the counter.

Umi raised a delicate, black brow. “You mean your ex?”

Reyes’ eyebrows shot up and his elbow slipped from the bar. He caught himself with his left hand, but just barely.

“Your ex? Zia was your girlfriend?” Sara asked primly, her lips pursed to keep her expression from changing too much. She wasn’t sure what emotion would win out, her amusement at his ruffled composure or her irritation at this new revelation.

He huffed and ran a hand through his hair. “Girlfriend is such a strong word,” he said. “We got drinks sometimes.” He shrugged and turned back to Umi.

Sara reminded herself that, despite his many charms, Reyes was trouble. The satisfied look on the bartender’s face as she watched Reyes squirm was proof enough.

“Has she been here, or not?” Reyes snapped.

Umi rolled her eyes, but nodded. “Yeah, she was here two days ago. Met with a tall, thin fellow I’ve never seen before. He looked Terris.” She paused and smirked. “Maybe he was the Charlatan.”

Reyes snorted. “Anything is possible.” He slapped the bar twice and shoved off it. “Thanks, Umi.”

She shrugged and continued wiping down the counter top. “Don’t mention it.” She glared at them both. “Seriously, don’t.”

Reyes walked away from the bar, leading Sara toward the exit. “I’ll follow the Collective lead, see if I can’t figure out who this Terrisman was. You check out the last known location of the shipment.” He glanced back at her to find her planted at the top of the stairs, arms crossed, hip cocked, and toe tapping. “What?”

“Is this about the shipment?” She asked. “Or about one-upping your ex?”

He smiled. “Why, Ryder, are you jealous?”

She glared at him, wishing she could slap that smug grin off his face as she felt the heat of another blush creep up her neck. “Just answer the question, Vidal.”

He laughed, and the sound was smooth and decadent as honey. “It’s about the shipment, of course!”

She watched him, her posture unchanged. He was too smooth, set her at ease too easily, which then only worked to put her on edge. When she was around him she was constantly waging a war on herself, toeing the line between trust and skepticism.

“Ryder,” he said, his voice softer, lacking the bluster of a moment before. “Zia and I were a casual thing for a few weeks.” He shrugged. “We shared drinks.”

Her eyebrow arched, and her mouth opened against her will. “Among other things?” She sounded jealous and petty in her own ears, and she hated herself for it. She had no claim on this man. Apart from their few harmless flirtations and his attentive care for her the night before, she had no reason to think she ever would have a claim to him. And she knew that would be for the best, ultimately.

Her brother and House Ryder would hardly approve if she brought home a Terris-blooded Roughs outlaw.

His hands on her upper arms pulled her from the dizzying turn of her thoughts. “I think you already know the answer to that,” he murmured. His eyes were warm and soft, but something like sadness crinkled them at the corners.

She sighed and shrugged out of his grip. “Where was this shipment before Zia took it?”

He gave her directions for a cave further north up the coast, and Sara grumbled.

“What is it with you and caves?”

He grinned at her, teeth flashing. “I have to use the resources available to me, and the ocean has done a fine job of creating plenty of little hidey holes for my purposes.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll check this out first thing in the morning.”

He nodded and before her eyes she watched the warmth in his gaze vanish, to be replaced with the cold steel of his business face. “I’ll find our mystery Terrisman.” He stepped away from her, but paused before the door. “Meet me at Tartarus tomorrow night.”

He didn’t wait for her to nod her agreement before he pushed through the door and out into the fading twilight. Sara watched him go, and counted to ten before she followed him out. Sam rose as the door swung shut behind her. Sara glanced at him, saw the concern in his liquid brown eyes and his jaw fall open to speak.

“Don’t bother,” she said. “You won’t tell me anything I haven’t already told myself.” The dog’s jaw clacked shut, and he dutifully followed her down the street, back to the inn.

 

Even early in the morning, with the sun mostly blocked out by the wall of the cliff, it was getting hot. Sara found she enjoyed looking at the sea and its beaches much more than she enjoyed traversing it.

Waves crashed against the shore, misting her in salt-spray that initially brought relief only to leave her sweat even stickier than usual. The sand shifted unpredictably under her feet and her thighs burned with the effort of keeping her balance and momentum as she trudged through it. And worst of all, her allomancy was practically useless, as her coins would just dig further and further into the sand when she pushed against them, instead of forcing her up into the air.

Reyes’ directions were good, again, and it only took a few hours for her and Sam to find the right cavern. The entrance was small compared to a lot of the other caverns she’d passed on her way there, but it was wide enough for a man to walk carrying boxes. The water line on the stone of the cliff suggested that the sea would creep into the cave during high tide, and Sara’s anxiety increased as she imagined drowning, trapped in the cave as salt water surged in to submerge her.

She and Sam entered the cavern, following the twisting and winding path as it climbed, eventually opening into a much larger cavern. There weren’t any crates within, which made sense; if Zia had found the place, Sara doubted she would leave anything behind. Still, she needed to find any clues the woman might have left.

“Sniff around,” she told Sam. “See what you can find.”

The dog nodded, and then started circling the cavern, his nose to the floor. Meanwhile, Sara did some poking and prodding of her own, and crouched when she came across a pile of used matches, charred and resting on a small pile of ashes.

“Something was burned here,” she called to Sam, her voice echoing through the cave.

The dog’s head perked up. “Perhaps a correspondence?”

Sara shrugged. “No way to know now.” She sifted through the ash with one finger until a large chunk of intact paper caught her eye. Carefully, she picked the piece out of the remains of the larger sheet of paper, and inspected it in the dim light. “Spirit’s Ledge mean anything to you?”

The kandra padded over to her, reading the scrap for himself. After a moment, his head tilted in consideration, he shook his head. “Perhaps Mr. Vidal will understand its meaning.”

Sara sighed. “I thought you might say that.”

The dog looked at her. “Are we not working in tandem with Mr. Vidal?”

Sara tucked the fragile scrap of paper into her mistcoat pocket and then dusted her hands off on her pants. “Oh, we are,” she said. “I just think it might be best if I keep my exposure to the man to a minimum.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I have a feeling he might be more trouble than I can handle,” she said. “And the more I’m around him, the less I seem to care.” It was the most honest thing she’d said to Sam since her father had died. The words were true, she felt them in her bones, and they flowed from her as easily as she burned Steel.

Sam was quiet as he followed her out of the cavern, probably scrutinizing her words. That was the trouble with opening up to the kandra; he always wanted to parse through everything she said to try and find some nugget of wisdom to share with her. It came from a good place, but she found it awfully condescending most days. Especially when it was about something as personal as her budding, so very misguided affection for the smuggler.

They were halfway back to the slums when Sam finally spoke. “You seem to find pleasure in Mr. Vidal’s company,” he said. “You are more open with him. You smile more.”

Sara swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Yeah,” she admitted.

“Then why do you try and convince yourself that time with Mr. Vidal is a bad thing?”

Sara had a million answers to that, and yet couldn’t find the words to adequately express one of them. She trudged on through the sand, grateful for the task of watching her feet slog through the shifting granules.

“Is it because you plan to return to Elendel?” Sam asked after a moment. “You are hesitant to enter into a relationship when you know you will only have to end it?”

Sara laughed, her head falling back. “I don’t think Reyes would be opposed to that.”

The dog hummed, though it sounded more like a growl. “Yes, I heard his description of his previous entanglement.”

“Of course you did,” she grumbled.

“I heard that too,” he said from his place at her right knee. He moved through the sand much easier than she did, his paws splaying over the sand to disperse his weight much more evenly than her boots could.

Another long silence dragged on between them, and Sara thought that Sam had finally given up on his line of questioning. Of course, he proved her wrong.

“You do still intend to return to Elendel,” he said, though doubt crept into his voice, turning it into a question.

“Yes,” she said after a moment’s consideration. Her voice was grim, her mouth pulled into a determined line.

“But you fear your attachment to Vidal might sway your decision?”

She glared down at the dog. “Did you ask Dad so many questions?”

Sam snorted, an interesting sound from a hound. “Your father was much more straightforward in his reasoning. He followed the plan, unless circumstances demanded improvisation.” He looked up at her, brown eyes dark and curious. “You seem to improvise most of the time, and rarely have a plan to follow.” The dog looked away, his ears on alert as a seagull took flight from a few yards before them. “You are a mystery, Sara.”

She frowned, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. “Thanks, I guess.”

The rest of their trip passed in silence. Sara considered dropping by Tartarus then, but Reyes had said to meet him later in the evening, and she wanted to give him as much time as possible to follow the Terrisman lead, so she headed straight for the lift and back to the inn. If she was lucky, Paaran Shie would have some lunch leftover for her.

 

 

Reyes scrubbed the blood from his hands in the small basin kept in the warehouse for just such purposes. He hated this part of his work, and usually avoided it if at all possible, but he was running out of time. Sloane’s Outcasts were getting bolder, more aggressive in their maneuvers against the Collective, and Reyes’ patience was wearing thin. It didn’t help that he’d emptied his metalminds in order to stay up and watch over Ryder while she came down from her accidental Oblivion exposure. He was exhausted, verging on drowsiness as he dared to store as much lucidity as he could and still stay awake. That had meant a particularly brutal afternoon for the Terrisman.

He’d been easy enough to find; Terris-blooded weren’t common in the Port, and his kind tended to keep in touch with one another. Umi’s hunch had been good, leading him to a small bar in the slums that acted as a covert gathering place for the few Terris-blooded that called the Port home. He was known there, and had even previously worked with the man that now sat dead in the next room. He was a fence and an information broker, using his Archivist’s metalminds to store memories that he could sell to the highest bidder.

Reyes hated to kill one of his own, the Terris were rare enough without slaughtering one another, but the man had refused to give Zia’s secrets away. Instead he had tried to sell them to Reyes, asking an exorbitant sum for the information. If this had been a Collective matter, Reyes might have considered paying the man; the organization had the funds.

But Reyes Vidal did not. And so it had been a painful and slow process for them both, though more so for the stubborn Terrisman. Eventually he’d shared enough for Reyes to put the pieces together. As he expected, Zia was acting based on her emotions. She’d seen him around with Ryder, seen the woman coming and going from Tartarus, and of course assumed the worst. So, she wanted revenge, wanted his attention. How better to get both than through his business?

Zia knew him well enough to know her methods would be effective, but there was plenty she didn’t know. If she did, she would have left him well enough alone; her sense of self-preservation was a healthy one.

Reyes checked his reflection in the grimy mirror. Satisfied that there was no blood splatter on his face or in his hair, he changed out of his ruined clothes. His once white button down shirt was now flecked and and sprayed with bright red that experience told him would fade to a rusty brown. No amount of careful washing would remove the stains, and keeping the shirt only left evidence. It would have to be burned. His pants were black, and so the blood didn’t show, but he would burn them too. The blood would bleach the fabric into a dull brown wherever it landed.

However, he was a man who thrived on preparation, and his previous use of such methods meant that Reyes had stored spare clothing in all of his preferred warehouses. He changed into the fresh linen shirt, buttoning it methodically before tucking it into the fresh black work pants. Suspenders went next, then his boots. He double checked his cuffs, shaking his arms to even them out, and then retrieved his welder’s goggles from the shelf beside the mirror.

The tools of this gruesome trade lay in neat, orderly rows beside the sink, shining and clean. He put them into their satchel, ignoring the slight tremor in his hands as he handled the instruments. Then he tucked them into the loose floorboard under the basin. They were just one set of many, stowed away just like his clothes all over the slums.

Maybe someday he would be able to forget where he put them all. But for now, he knew where they were, where they waited until he needed them once more. He stood and caught his reflection in the mirror and grimaced. He was in rough shape, his face pale beneath his bronze, Terris skin. The dark circles under his eyes spoke of his exhaustion, as did the dull glaze that coated his eyes. And again the tremors, though they’d grown into something more like trembling, wracking his whole body instead of just his hands.

“Pull it together, Vidal,” he growled at his image in the mirror. Then he doused the lamp in the bathroom and stepped out into the larger, main room of the barren warehouse. The dead Terrisman sat slumped on a chair in the center of the room. It was a grizzly scene; blood matted the floor and clung to tawny skin gone cold. But it no longer dripped from the myriad cuts, no longer flowed from the throat he’d slit once his interrogation was done.

Reyes paused as he took in the carnage before him. He hated it, hated that torture had become something he just did. He hated that he’d convinced himself it didn’t kill him a little bit each time. He was a rusting good liar, but he made a point not to lie to himself. He was the only person he could ever be completely honest with, the only person he should be honest with.

But, he had goals. Ambitions. And sacrifices had to be made to achieve them. Apparently even his soul was expendable.

He pulled his eyes from the gory scene before him, and left the building. It would take days before the Terrisman was found, and he’d taken pains to keep anyone from connecting them. With tension between Sloane and the Collective growing, it would be a simple enough thing to pin the brutal torture on one of the gangs. No one would think obnoxious, small-time smuggler Vidal would do such a horrifying thing to one of his own.

He gauged the time by the angle of the sun, figuring it to be late afternoon. He’d have time for a couple hours’ nap, and he would need it. He had a meeting with Ryder that night, and she was oddly astute at reading him. If he seemed the least bit off, she would sense it, and he couldn’t afford to sew more doubt between them.

Not when he was so close to moving against Sloane. Just a few more weeks, and he could remove the head of the snake that strangled Kadara Port. And if Ryder continued to help him, to look at him like she had at Kralla’s the day before, maybe he could tell her who he really was.

He tucked that thought far back into his mind as he walked through the winding alleys back to Tartarus. It brought on an odd, bright sensation in his chest. He stopped in a briny puddle, shocked to realize the feeling was hope. He was about to make his move against one of the most dangerous people in the Roughs, and he was feeling hopeful about his love life?

He shook his head and continued on his way. “I really need to get some sleep.”


	11. A Greedy Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The schedule got a little weird this week, but we should be back on track! I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and especially this artwork. It's so moody :D

 

 

Somewhere, dimly, Reyes noticed pounding. It mimicked the feeling in his head, which he was determined to ignore. With an irritated groan he pulled the blankets up to his neck and rolled over, his back to the door.

More pounding, clearer this time. It didn’t resemble the exhausted thump at his temples quite so much anymore.

“Reyes?” A voice called through the door. Even more pounding. “Is this a bad time?”

He sighed, slowly floating to consciousness. His room was dark, none of the lamps lit, since it’d been light out when he’d gone to bed.

“Just a minute,” he called. His eyes didn’t want to cooperate, the lids heavy and uncoordinated. Instinctively he tapped his bronzeminds, the fatigue evaporating, and he remembered that he’d been filling the bronze bands during his nap. He always slept harder when he stored wakefulness.

He climbed out of bed, ceasing his use of the newly stored wakefulness, and let his natural exhaustion settle over him like an oppressive cloud. He scrubbed his hands over his face and reached into the drawer of the tiny bedside table. He pulled a vial of tin shavings and knocked them back. Whiskey was his preferred liquid to take his metal with, but at that moment coffee would have been better.

The shavings settled in his stomach, warm and comforting as he burned them automatically. The room didn’t lighten, or even look similar to what it would look like during the day, but Reyes could see nonetheless. The shadows deepened, and yet his gaze pierced them. The faintest light that filtered into the room from under the door and from beyond his tightly shuttered window was suddenly enough to turn the pitch black of his room into navigable, dim shadows. With his increased sight came increased hearing as well. He could hear Ryder’s irritated mumblings and her boot tapping against the floorboards.

Right. Business time. He moved quickly, dressing in fresh black pants and a black button down shirt. If they moved against Zia tonight, he’d want the dark clothes. He lit the lamps, looking away until the room was bright and searing to his enhanced sight. Then he doused his tin and opened the door.

“Thanks for waiting,” he said, without looking at her.

There was silence for a moment. “Is this a bad time?”

He glanced at her, a tired smile on his face. “I overslept,” he admitted.

She looked him over, doubt in her blue eyes. “More like I interrupted your nap,” she said as she followed him into the room.

He shrugged. “There might be some truth to that.” He glanced at the door and then back to her. “I’m going to get some coffee. Want anything?”

She considered him a moment. “Whiskey,” she said, then shrugged out of her mistcoat. He was surprised to see that, instead of her usual loose tunic, she wore a fitted black blouse, the collar high and ruffled. It fit her snugly, tucked into high waisted black pants.

He blinked at her and realized that he was staring. He cleared his throat, and looked away. “I’ll be right back,” he announced and then hurried from the room.

Kian spotted him right away, even with the bar crowded and the band loud. “Rust and Ruin,” the bartender shouted over the din. “What happened to you?”

Reyes glowered at his friend. “I need a pot of coffee and a glass of whiskey.”

Kian’s red brow lifted. “Rough night ahead?”

Reyes nodded. “Preceded by a rough day.” He waited as Kian moved behind the bar, putting his order together.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with a particular blue-eyed lass you’ve been seeing lately, would it?”

“It’s work, Kian,” Reyes growled.

“Since when does work include playing nurse maid?”

“By the Survivor,” Reyes cursed. “Just pour the rusting drinks.”

The bartender laughed, taking Reyes’ sour mood as confirmation of his suspicions. But, of course, Kian wasn’t done analyzing. “But, that’s not all that’s under your skin.” Large hazel eyes bored into Reyes. “What’s this job you and Ryder are working on?”

Reyes considered his friend, but the bar had cleared out as folks moved off to tables and the dance floor. “That missing shipment?” He asked, leaning on the bartop. “Zia’s work.”

Kian whistled. “Well, that’s not exactly surprising now, is it?”

Reyes glared at him.

“What? The woman fell for you, hard. Survivor knows why,” he said with a smirk. He set a tray on the counter, placing a fresh pot of coffee, two mugs, and the glass of whiskey on it. Reyes made to take the tray, but Kian didn’t release his grip on it. They looked at each other for a long moment, and Kian’s eyes softened.

“Try not to do anything you can’t take back tonight, hey?”

Reyes bristled. Kian’s advice, while frequently accurate, was unsolicited and unwanted. “She came after me,” his voice hard and cold.

“Sure,” Kian said, shrugging. “But she doesn’t really know what that means, does she?”

Reyes snatched the tray from Kian, a bit more forcefully than necessary. “She’s about to find out.”

The bartender scoffed at his back. “Fine, be that way. But don’t forget that Little-Miss-Nexus doesn’t know either.”

That pulled Reyes up short. Sara didn’t know he was connected to the Collective, though he was pretty sure she knew he was more connected than a simple smuggler would be. What would she think of him if she knew? Would she be upset? Would she think less of him? Would she see him differently?

And so what if she did? What did he care? But even as he asked himself those questions, he realized that he did care, much more than he should. He looked back at Kian, and his shock must have been plain on his face, because his friend smiled softly.

“You need to tell her, mate.”

Reyes shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “She’s taking jobs from Sloane. I can’t be sure I can trust her.”

“And if she finds out on her own?”

“That won’t happen,” Reyes growled.

Kian waved him off. “Fine, if you’re so sure. Keep your rusting secret. But you’re making a mistake.”

Reyes rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why I put up with your bullshit,” he said, but their was only patient affection in his tone.

“Because I’m the only one that will put up with yours.”

They both chuckled at that, shaking their heads ruefully, and then Reyes hurried back upstairs with their drinks.

 

Sara sat primly on the edge of the settee, trying her best not to over think the way Reyes had stared at her before he’d ducked out to get their drinks. She told herself that he was sleep addled, exhausted after a long day of hunting down his own lead on the missing shipment. His glance had been nothing more than surprise at her more feminine attire, not actual interest. And even if it was actual interest, it wasn’t something she could act on; she had decided that pursuing Reyes would be a mistake, one she could avoid by keeping things professional between them.

He returned to the room with a tray balanced on one hand, which he settled on the coffee table before her. Wordlessly, he handed her the tumbler of whiskey, and then poured coffee for himself. She let him drink in peace, knowing she was useless before at least one cup of coffee herself. She sipped at her drink while he poured a second mug.

“All right,” he said after taking another sip. “Ready to compare notes?” He’d settled back against the frame of his bed, his customary stance when they talked business. Sara was grateful for the distance; he usually wore white shirts, but something about his all black attire looked particularly fetching and she had trouble keeping her mind on the task at hand.

Setting her glass down, she rifled through her mistcoat pocket and withdrew the charred scrap of paper from the cavern. “I found this in the cave,” she said. She set the paper down on the table and he stepped forward to peer at it. “Spirit’s Ledge mean anything to you?”

Reyes’ mouth pressed into a hard line, but he nodded. “It’s a section of the cliff face, about five miles outside the Port.” He leaned back again, his arms crossed over his chest. He’d rolled up his sleeves to the elbow, and coupled with his tousled hair and open collar, it gave him an incredibly informal air. Like she was seeing a version of Reyes no one else was permitted to see.

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to focus on their discussion. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

He smirked and sipped at his coffee. “Probably not. It’s a maze of old angaran cliff dwellings, from back before they built Kadara Port. Smugglers use it to stow goods, and criminals use it as a hideout when they need to disappear.”

Sara grinned at his distinction between smugglers and criminals. Then she grimaced at the thought of battling her way through an ancient cliff dwelling, but sighed. “Makes sense Zia would be there,” she said. He nodded, but said nothing more. “When do we want to move?”

“The sooner the better,” he said, returning his empty mug to the tray. “I need this cargo, and I need to get Zia off my back.”

Sara arched her brow at him, but refused to comment on his use of the woman’s first name. She had no right to be jealous, or even intrigued; they were talking business, and that’s all that was between them. Then she took in his full black attire, and realized they’d had the same plan all along.

She slammed back her whiskey, the glass thumping against the tray where she set it down. “Enough chit chat, then,” she said. “We’re wasting moonlight.” She stood and shrugged back into her mistcoat, trying her best not to return the satisfied smirk Reyes shot her way as they left the room.

The walk to Spirit’s Ledge wasn’t too long, and the time flew by as they bantered, Sara’s defenses useless against the smuggler’s natural, easy charm. Their comfortable familiarity didn’t keep her from startling as Reyes flicked the lapel of her mistcoat, however.

“You insist you’re not a Pathfinder,” he said. “But you also insist on wearing this patch.” Moonlight lit his face, but his eyes were shadowed as he watched her, waiting for her response.

Sara sighed. “It’s a long story,” she said. “One I’m not keen to share.” She didn’t look at him as she walked, and though she tried to keep the sadness from her voice, she was certain Reyes noticed it.

“Who did the mistcoat belong to?” He asked. His voice was soft and careful, an offer to confide in him, if she wanted to.

And she did want to, she realized, but that would be a dangerous thing indeed. Not only did Reyes deal in information, but opening herself up to him about this went directly against her own decision to keep things professional between them. After a few more steps through the dust, she swallowed against the lump in her throat.

“My father,” she croaked. She cleared her throat, embarrassed at the emotion in her voice, but said nothing more. She expected Reyes to ask more questions, but he remained quiet as they walked. She warred with herself as they continued on their path, arguing for and against sharing her burden with Reyes. It’d been months of carrying the weight of that day with her, talking of it with no one, and suddenly the prospect of sharing it was so tempting.

“Here we are,” he murmured as he turned to lead her to the edge of the cliff. As she followed him, Sara was glad he’d come with her. She could never have found the thin path that led through the scrub to the cliff face, let alone the narrow trail that led down to the dwellings carved into the cliff below them. She hesitated at the top of the trail, the wind from the sea ripping at her.

Reyes took her hand in his, the skin of his palm warm and calloused. “I’ve got you,” he said, and led her down the path. Sara burned steel as they entered the first cavern, the familiar blue lines blooming into life. There were metals scattered around the cavern, but nothing moved except for the gun on Reyes’ hip.

“Wait here,” he whispered through the dark. “I’m going to scout ahead.” He squeezed her hand, which she squeezed back, and then he moved off further into the artificial caves.

She kept her allomancy trained on him, tracking his movements until he was out of her power’s reach. Her heart raced as she listened for his footsteps in the dark, but the wind howled through the caverns and water dripped from the ceilings, blocking any other sounds. Her nerves rattled as her imagination ran away with her, visions of Reyes ambushed in the dark of the caves, too far from her to be saved.

And then a new blue line came to life, vibrating as its source jangled. Sara stiffened and reached for the satchel at her belt to retrieve a coin.

“It’s just me,” Reyes whispered to her. He reached her a moment later, and took her hand to lead her through the network of caves. They weaved and turned, leaving Sara thoroughly disoriented in the dripping darkness.

“How can you navigate these caverns?” She asked, her voice hushed but echoing through the chamber anyway.

“You’re not the only one keeping secrets,” he murmured.

Sara wanted to argue with him. She wasn’t keeping secrets, not really. She just didn’t want to share the details of her father’s death with him. Was that too much to ask?

Reyes stopped and released her hand. “Shipment is here,” he said. He moved away from her, fiddling with something in his pocket, and then a torch blossomed to life on the wall, casting the large cave in flickering shadows.They were in a spacious cavern, almost completely enclosed from the elements, save for the tunnel they’d used to reach it, and a mezzanine level with an entrance of its own. In the center of the cave sat a large metal trunk, and it was all Reyes had eyes for.

“How’d she get this here?” Sara asked. She couldn’t imagine anyone using the narrow trail they had to bring cargo to the caverns.

“There’s a pulley system below the dwellings, on the beach,” he explained. His voice was distracted as he approached the crate.

Sara followed him, peering over his shoulder as he picked the lock and opened the container, eager to see what was inside.

“It’s… empty?” Reyes said, dropping the lid back to let it crash to the cavern floor. Sure enough, the crate was empty, with not a single crumb to suggest that anything had even been held inside.

“Reyes,” Sara said, her gut clenching. “What if this was all an elaborate set up to get you here?”

He spun to face her, his amber eyes dark in the unreliable torch light. “You mean… there was never any cargo?”

Slow clapping from above them startled them both. Sara looked up to see a woman, taller than her with fiery red hair and smooth, tanned skin smirking down at them. “Bravo,” she called down to them. “I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

Reyes bristled beside her. “Zia,” he growled. Sara looked between the pair, trying to reconcile the thought that the two had been an item. Reyes was cold as he looked at the woman above them, suddenly cut off from Sara as he glared at Zia. For the very first time, she got a sense that there was more to Reyes than she’d realized, something frigid and dangerous. Something that sent a shiver up her spine.

And Zia just smiled down at him, oblivious to the threat. “You could never resist a big payout,” she taunted.

He shrugged, but even that motion seemed stilted and icy. “What can I say, I’m a greedy man.”

“That’s why you don’t have any friends,” Zia sneered. “You’re selfish.”

The accusation snapped at something in Sara. Reyes had given her work, led her to the Aya Inn when she needed a place to stay. He rescued the men and women in the Oblivion den, and watched over her when she’d been at her most vulnerable. Reyes cared, even if he kept that part of himself from everyone else.

“Reyes is a better man than you think,” Sara called up to the woman. The force of her voice surprised her, and Reyes’ head snapped over to look at her, his amber eyes wide.

Zia laughed, the sound condescending as it bubbled up from her. “Oh, honey,” she purred. “You have no idea how wrong you are. But you will.”

Reyes stepped forward, putting himself between Zia and Sara. “Leave her out of this,” he snapped.

Zia raised a thin eyebrow. “You must really like this one, Reyes,” she teased.

“Cut the shit,” he said. “What’s this really about?”

The humor fell away from her face, and she leveled an impassive stare at Reyes. “You’ve been taking all the good jobs in Kadara,” she said. “It’s gotten more than my attention.”

Reyes scoffed. “So, what? The local smuggling union got together and decided to take me down?”

Zia cocked a hip and reached for the pistol holstered there. “Something like that,” she said.

Reyes dropped his head into one hand as Sara knocked back a vial of metals. “Rust and Ruin,” he muttered, reaching for the pistol tucked away at the small of his back.

“Move in!” Zia shouted, and men poured from the entrance on the mezzanine as well as from the exit behind Sara.

Reyes ducked behind the metal crate for cover as Sara pushed off it. It shifted across the floor slightly at her push, but Reyes pressed his shoulder into it, adding his weight to the crate’s. Sara flew back towards a row of three attackers, her mistcoat tassels fluttering, then she dropped a coin and pushed against it. She shot up into the air, pulling the pistol from under her mistcoat as she launched a handful of coins at the men. She pushed against the coins, dropping the men before raising her pistol at them.

“Get the Coinshot,” Zia shouted to her remaining forces.

Sara stopped pushing against the coin beneath her, dropping to the cavern floor as the focus switched from Reyes to her. She sprinted across the cavern floor, her steel burning in a gentle, outward push. It was another tactic her father had been determined to teach her, something he said few Coinshots were skilled enough to accomplish. It required immense effort and concentration, but Sara had refused to disappoint her father.

A bullet sped toward her, its blue line shrinking so quickly as it approached that she hardly had time to notice it, but then the bullet met her concentrated push and careened off course to ricochet off a nearby wall. She slid into cover behind the crate with Reyes, panting.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, trying to catch her breath. “Plan?”

He shook his head in frustration. “I can take care of Zia if I can get to her one-on-one,” he said.

She nodded, and pulled another vial of metals from her belt, restoring her reserves. “Distraction,” she said. “Got it.” She saw his mouth fall open, but before he could argue she climbed up onto the crate and flared her steel.

The enhanced push rocketed her up unto the air in a spin, her coat tassels fanning out around her. She pushed another coin up until it collided with the roof of the cavern, and then held herself there, for all appearances floating in the middle of the cave.

“You guys really need to work on your aim,” she taunted. And then she pulled another handful of coins from her belt and pushed them at the attackers on the mezzanine. Out of the five foes, only Zia was smart enough to duck for cover. The woman hurtled over a crate and cowered behind it, effectively blocked from Sara’s view. The coin meant for her clanged harmlessly against the crate as the other coins met with skulls and the attackers fell.

Reyes used the onslaught to his advantage, scurrying to climb the wooden ladder that led up to the mezzanine. Sara doused her steel, dropping back to the crate before she positioned herself below the edge of the mezzanine. She was about to push off a spent bullet casing when she heard voices from above.

“Reyes,” Zia said, her voice quivering. “Please.”

“You should have let it go, Zia,” he said, his tone soft and full of regret. “I told you to let me go.”

There was a pause, in which the click of a pistol cocking echoed through the cavern and Zia chuckled humorlessly. “I suppose I was the greedy one all along,” she said.

Sara pushed against the casing, and hurtled up to the mezzanine just in time to see Reyes pull the trigger on the woman, who lay at his feet. Sara landed softly as Zia went still, and Reyes didn’t move. He stood over the body, his pistol hovering for a moment before he returned it to the small of his back. Sara wanted to go to him, to tell him that Zia had given them no choice, had tried to kill them. But he was radiating that same icy energy that had startled her earlier, and she couldn’t bring herself to approach him.

“Can you find your way back to the cliff?” He asked. His voice was hard, controlled as he stared at the newly made corpse.

Sara’s brow furrowed. “Maybe,” she said. “If I have light.”

He nodded and pulled another torch from the wall, lighting it with a match he pulled from his pocket. He handed it to her without meeting her gaze. “Go,” he said. “I’ll take care of this.”

Sara didn’t want to leave him there alone. She shook her head. “They might try again,” she said.

Her words broke through his frigidity slightly. His lips curled into a soft smirk and his eyes found hers. “You worried about me?” He asked.

She stepped closer to him, into his space. “Reyes,” she admonished.

“Relax,” he said, taking a step toward the body. “I know they’re coming now. They won’t get the jump on me.” He put his hands on his hips and shook his head with a sigh. “All that effort and no coin to show for it.”

She shrugged. “Not everything has to be about money,” she said.

He looked back at her, and something in his expression softened. “That’s true,” he said. “What you said back there, about me being a better man?” He paused, looking over her face as if he would find the answer to some unspoken question there. “Thank you.”

She blinked at him, surprised by the honesty in his voice. “You’re welcome,” she said, unsure of what else she could say.

“Now go,” he said. “Zia was a piece of work, but leaving her out in the open just seems… wrong.”

Sara nodded. She wanted to offer to help him, to keep him company while he completed the grim task of seeing to Zia’s remains, but that dangerous mask slipped back into place as he turned away from her.

Suddenly Sara wanted to be anywhere but there.


	12. An Invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I hope you all liked the last chapter! This one is a little lighter, and was a ton of fun to write! I hope you enjoy it.

Sara didn’t hear from Reyes for weeks after their fight with Zia. She tried not to let the silence grate on her, but she worried about the effect Zia’s death might have on the smuggler. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to go to Tartarus, afraid that once she did, it might be too late and the damage might be done. Besides, she was supposed to be distancing herself from the troublesome man, not concerning herself with his mental well-being. So she’d taken on odd jobs from the locals, becoming an over-glorified errand girl in her efforts to keep herself distracted.

“Sara,” Sam interrupted her pacing one evening. “Perhaps you should take the night off,” the dog said from his spot on the rug at the foot of her bed.

She ran her hand through her hair, the naturally wavy lengths turning to full blown curls after weeks in the briny air. “I don’t think so, Sam,” she said. “I wonder if Paaran has anything she needs help with?” She wondered aloud.

“Or perhaps Mr. Vidal has more work waiting for you,” the kandra said.

Sara froze and glared at the hound. “If he did, he would contact me,” she said with an indignant sniff, and then resumed her pacing.

“Perhaps he fears that you think worse of him for your encounter with his former lover,” Sam said.

Sara snorted. “They weren’t ‘lovers’, Sam.”

“They were romantically involved, were they not?”

She shrugged. “Reyes made it seem that way.”

“Then were they not lovers?”

“According to Reyes they were…” she trailed off, suddenly unwilling to speak about it further with her out of touch kandra.

“Casual?” Sam suggested.

Sara sighed. “We’re not talking about it anymore,” she snapped, and resumed her pacing. The black skirt rustled as she stomped around the room. She fiddled with the cuff of her white linen blouse, and tugged at the bottom of the black vest, restlessly reassuring herself that it lay flat.

“Would you feel better about things if you could be casual with Mr. Vidal?” Sam asked.

She stopped pacing and tried to compose herself so she could look at the kandra. But the blush creeping up her neck and cheeks only heated as she tried to face him. She cleared her throat. “I’m going out,” she announced, snatching her mistcoat from the hook by the door. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Have fun!” Sam called after her, humor bright in his doggy voice. She cursed the kandra under her breath as she fastened her metals belt to her waist and hurried out into the increasing night.

 

Reyes signaled for another whiskey as Kian hurried by to help another patron. The bartender nodded, so that his friend knew he’d been seen, but didn’t stop to chat when he delivered the beverage. Tartarus was busy, the band played and people danced as the drinks poured, but Reyes kept to his corner of the bar and contented himself to watch.

He hadn’t heard from Ryder since their encounter with Zia, though he knew she hadn’t left the Port. According to Paaran Shie, Sara had taken on odd jobs from the locals over the weeks, but nothing from Sloane. And nothing from him. Maybe he had finally found the woman’s threshold. She could handle the subtle smuggling and implied thievery, but maybe murder was where she drew the line.

He shook his head and sipped his fresh drink. He couldn’t make the thought stick. She’d killed five of Sloane’s men to take Terev from the woman, and she’d seemed no worse for the wear. Sara was tough, much tougher than she looked, and was capable of violence when she needed to be. The men he’d dragged to the sea from Spirit’s Ledge, coins embedded in their skulls, were proof enough of that.

But, she’d never slept with any of them. Maybe that was the issue; she couldn’t reconcile his murder of someone who he had admitted had shared his bed. In all honesty, it wasn’t easy for him either. Zia had been a mistake, someone he’d thought his equal, only to discover too late that the only things they had in common were smuggling, an appreciation for whiskey, and the willingness to warm one another’s beds.

Reyes groaned and pressed a hand to his face. Maybe it was for the best, he thought. This way she was free of him before he had a chance to entangle her in his real life, in his role as the Charlatan. If she couldn’t cope with what he’d done to Zia, then she’d never be able to handle the things he was willing to do for the Collective. And though his logical side knew all of this, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d lost something special in Ryder.

“Look alive, mate,” Kian said from across the bar. “Nexus just walked in.”

Reyes snapped to attention, glanced over his shoulder and grinned. Sara stood in the doorway, gaping at the gathered crowd. She stood on her toes, scanning the bar, and Reyes looked away, settling into a comfortable pose to drink his whiskey with nonchalance. Kian rolled his eyes and moved off to help another customer. Footsteps behind him on the floorboards announced Ryder.

“Reyes Vidal,” she said, her raspy voice in his ears a relief. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Reyes shook his head and chuckled as she climbed onto the barstool beside him. “You always know where to find me,” he said. He watched her shrug out of the mistcoat, took in her long black skirt and vest, with a white collared shirt underneath, and smiled. “Drink?”

She smiled back. “Please.”

He nodded, motioned to Kian for another whiskey, and turned back to face her.

“How have you been?” She asked. Her tone was forcefully neutral; she meant how was he after everything that had happened.

He watched Kian return with her glass of whiskey, and let her take a sip while he fiddled with his own glass. “I’m all right,” he said. He took a breath and then said what he was thinking, throwing caution to the wind. “You had me worried though.”

She grimaced. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment.

He waved off her apology and looked down at his whiskey. “How have you been?” He asked in the same tone, and then knocked back his drink.

Her eyes followed his face as he drank, and then she looked at her own glass. “Good,” she said. “Busy picking up jobs from folks in the Port.”

“And Sloane?” He asked, even though he knew the answer.

She shook her head, her long hair undulating with the motion. “Not since the Oblivion den.” Her voice was soft, but her eyes were far away. Haunted. She shuddered slightly, stirring herself from the memories of that night, and then gulped down her whiskey.

“Another?” he asked, a dark eyebrow raised.

She looked at him, her eyes searching his face. He didn’t know what she hoped to find, but finally she smiled at him, and he felt his breath catch in his chest.

“That would be nice.”

They drank and they talked, and they drank some more, until a warm cloud of whiskey haze had dulled his senses. Ryder giggled at something he said, and the sound captivated him completely. As he watched her his eyes were caught by that Pathfinder insignia on her coat lapel which hung off the back of her stool.

He reached out and ran a thumb over the embroidered badge. “Why do you insist on wearing this?” He asked.

She looked down to see what he was talking about, and the laughter died on her lips. “I told you,” she murmured, returning her attention to her glass. “It was my father’s.”

He glanced at her, but kept his thumb on the patch, memorizing the feel of it against his skin. “He was a Pathfinder?”

She nodded, and took a deep drink of her whiskey. “Some would say the best.”

Reyes tilted his head as his alcohol-fogged brain tried to connect the dots. “Ryder,” he murmured, the name reverberating in his head. “Alec Ryder is your father?”

The man had been a legend in Elendel, especially in the poorer neighborhoods. Ryder had come from nothing, but had worked hard and smart, rising to the highest ranks of the Nexus Security Corporation and spearheading their Pathfinder division. His endeavors had earned his family a House in Elendel’s Senate, securing the Ryder legacy for generations to come. And apparently he had died not long before Sara made her way into the Roughs.

She tilted her head and cleared her throat. “He was,” she murmured.

He wanted to ask what had happened, to finally get to the bottom of the secret that was Sara Ryder, but she sat beside him looking devastated and so afraid that he would pry that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She’d only just returned to him, he wouldn’t chase her away with poorly timed personal questions.

He dropped the lapel and bumped his shoulder into hers. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low.

She nodded, and swallowed before raising her glass to her lips. After a moment she seemed more composed, and she met his eyes. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s just… still fresh.”

He nodded his understanding, and signaled Kian for another round. The drinks came, and he waited for the bartender to move on before he continued speaking. “My parents died when I was fourteen,” he admitted.

She looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise at his admission. “I’m sorry,” she said.

He shrugged. “It was just me and my two little brothers after that,” he said, suddenly unable to stop himself.

She watched him as he drank, her elbow on the counter and her jaw in one hand. Her hair cascaded down her shoulder and back in wild waves that begged him to touch. “Where are they now?” She asked, pulling him from his observation of her.

He blinked at her unexpected question. Thinking about his brothers for the first time in almost fifteen years brought on painful memories. He looked away from her. “They’re gone,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

He shook his head. “Don’t be,” he told her. “You didn’t know. What about you?” He sent her a small, tentative smile. “Any siblings? Maybe a little sister, or a protective older brother I need to worry about?”

She laughed, and the sound settled some nervous, flickering sensation in his chest. “I have a brother, but he’s younger than me, by two minutes.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Twins?”

She nodded, her grin wide. “We’re rare, but not unheard of.”

He smirked at her. “Tell me he’s the reasonable one,” he said. “I couldn’t imagine two of you unleashed on the world.”

Sara tried to scowl at him, but her barely suppressed laughter ruined the effect. “I’m the one in the Roughs,” she said. “Scott’s back in Elendel, keeping the House together.”

“And?”

She quirked an eyebrow at him. “And what?”

“Do I need to worry about him?”

She blushed, which made him smile, but she kept her composure as she ran her index finger around the rim of her glass. “That depends,” she said, throwing his words from the Roekaar base back at him.

He took a sip of his drink to mask his surprise at her forward demeanor. The whiskey made her brave and he’d had enough to let the conversation continue, where he might have changed the subject otherwise. “On what?” He asked.

“Scott’s a pretty good judge of character,” she said, her tone irritated and awed all at once.

“Well,” Reyes smirked. “I’ll make sure he knows that my taste in women has vastly improved lately.”

Even in the low light of the bar he appreciated the creep of the flushed skin on her neck and cheeks. She finished her whiskey, and he did the same, their glasses finding the bar at the same time.

“I think I’ve had more than enough,” she said, her lips curved in a pleased smile.

“I think I have too,” he said, and stood to help her into her mistcoat. He left a few bills on the bar, and trusted Kian to put the rest of their considerable bill on his tab, then he walked with her out of the bar.

“You don’t have to walk me out,” she said.

“It’s late,” he said. “And you forget that we’re in the slums.” He knew just how dangerous desperate streets could be and he refused to expose Ryder to those threats needlessly.

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue further. As they approached the lift, Reyes felt his stomach sink. He didn’t want to say goodnight, didn’t want to lose the easy conversation they’d developed over the course of the evening. He didn’t want to lose her.

He took her hand, pulling her to face him. “Sloane’s throwing a party in a couple weeks,” he said, the words tumbling from him while his mind frantically tried to catch up. “Come with me?”

She stared at him, her blue eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “I’m surprised you want to go,” she said.

He shrugged, dropping her hand. “I didn’t plan to,” he said.

She bit her lip as she considered him, and Reyes’ heart climbed into his throat. “Is it a formal party?”

He winced. The party had been Keema’s idea, a ruse to get him into Sloane’s mansion and do some snooping, all under the guise of making nice with the locals. Bringing Ryder along wasn’t a problem, he was certain, but knowing his lieutenant, it would be a formal affair. Would Ryder refuse if she had to dress the part?

“I’m sure you can put something together in time,” he assured her.

She scowled at him. “Does that mean you won’t be wearing your goggles?”

He smirked. “Only if you swear not to wear that coat.” He fingered the lapel, and she leaned toward him slightly, her face tilted up to his. They were drunk, he should stop before they both regretted their actions, but Reyes couldn’t keep his face from dipping down to hers.

“Not a chance,” she breathed against his lips. “No Coinshot is complete without a proper mistcoat.” And then she ducked out of his grip and stepped onto the lift, grinning at him as it activated.

“Does that mean you’ll go?” He called after her.

Her grin spread across her face. “I’ll see what I can put together,” she yelled down to him. The lift carried her away, but Reyes didn’t leave. He burned his tin and listened to her laughter until she was too far above him for even his enhanced senses to hear. Only then did he turn to walk back to Tartarus, a giddy warmth suffusing through his entire body. And he knew the feeling had little to do with alcohol, and everything to do with Sara Ryder.

 

Barking thundered through the room, and Sara shrieked as she awoke.

“Oh, good,” Sam said. He stood by the bedroom door, his scraggly tail wagging. “You’re awake.”

Sara threw her pillow at the kandra, to little effect as the dog dodged the projectile with ease. She groaned with the effort as a miserable thumping in her skull made itself known. Sunlight poured through the sheer angaran curtains, adding a searing quality to her pounding head. She groaned, draping an arm over her face.

“What time is it?” She asked.

“After noon,” Sam said. “Paaran knocked twice, once for breakfast and again for lunch.” He panted, his tongue lolling as he looked at her. “She sounded worried.”

She’d have to talk the anxious woman down later when she finally made it downstairs. Sara tried to sit up, but her stomach lurched dangerously. At this rate she’d be lucky to make it downstairs at all. She took steady, shallow breaths, and when her body felt somewhat less mutinous, she moved into an upright position. The blankets fell away to reveal her bare skin, though her skirt was still in place. She searched the room for her blouse, only to have Sam pad over with it in his jaws. She snatched the clothing away from him and pulled it over her head.

“It seems you had a good evening,” Sam said.

Sara tried to piece the memories together. She remembered going to Tartarus, being surprised at how busy it was, and relieved when she saw Reyes at the bar. They’d sat together drinking for hours, talking about anything and everything. Though she didn’t remember a lot of the details, she did remember that they talked briefly about their families and that he’d insisted on walking her to the lift. They’d chatted some more, and he’d invited her to…

“He invited me to a party,” she mumbled.

Sam sat on his haunches at the side of her bed. “So you mentioned, at length.”

“To Sloane’s party,” she said.

“Yes, that did come up.”

“And I agreed to go.” She dropped her head into her hands. “What was I thinking?”

“Alcohol has adverse affects on the human memory, I take it?”

She glared from behind her fingers at the kandra. “What, you’re telling me Dad never got drunk?”

“If he did, I was never present for it.” Sam waited for her to say more, but continued when she didn’t. “If your monologue last night is to be believed, I believe you agreed to go to Sloane’s party with Mr. Vidal because he,” the dog paused and cleared his throat. “’Makes you happy,’” he quoted.

Sara fell back into the mattress, pulling the spare pillow over her face. “Anything can make you happy if you drink enough whiskey,” she said.

“Yes,” Sam said. “I suggested as much. However, you were quick to add that Mr. Vidal makes you happy regardless of your intoxication level.”

She sighed and counted to ten in her head. The headache was bad enough without screaming at Sam.

“Sara,” the kandra continued. “I believe that you may have been too critical of your feelings toward Mr. Vidal.”

She pulled the pillow off her face. “Excuse me?”

“It is apparent that your affection for the man is a source of anxiety for you.” The dog shifted his paws and looked away from her. “Perhaps you ought to think less about what you should do, and more about what you want to do.”

She stared at the kandra, her mouth open. “I’m dreaming,” she said.

“I assure you, you are not.”

“Then I’m still drunk,” she announced.

“That may be,” he admitted. “However, that does not alter my words to you now.”

“Why on Harmony’s great earth would you think I should do what I want?” She asked, unwilling to look at the kandra. He didn’t answer right away, and she wondered if she’d offended the creature somehow; she was never sure with Sam.

“Because your father regretted that you felt bound to follow in his footsteps,” Sam murmured.

She was about to ask him to explain when a knock came at the door.

“Ryder?” Paaran Shie called through the door.

“Come in,” Sara called back, giving Sam a nod. The kandra lay down, for all the world an obedient hound waiting for its master’s command.

Paaran let herself in, a pair of envelopes in her hand. “Mail is in,” the woman said. She took one look at Sara and made a displeased sound. “I’ll put a fresh pot of coffee on and put together a tray of meats and cheeses. Will you be down soon?”

Sara nodded. “Yes, Paaran. Thank you.” She stood to take the letters from the woman, and though she felt the color drain from her face, she refused to let the nausea win. “You’re the best,” she said.

“Flatterer,” she crooned, but she smiled anyway. The angara let herself out, closing the door softly behind her.

Sara looked down at the letters, and opened the first, addressed with nothing more than ‘Ryder’ on the front of the envelope.

 

> _Ryder,_
> 
> _I hope this note finds you in better condition than I find myself this morning. The details are fuzzy, but I believe I asked you to accompany me to Sloane’s party the weekend after next. If memory serves, you found the idea agreeable. Let me know if you still find it so in the light of day and if so, I’ll meet you at the Mayoral Estate gates at eight o’clock on the 25th._
> 
>  
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Reyes_

 

She grinned down at the letter, her eyes flying over the words as she memorized them. She hadn’t expected his handwriting to be so tidy, or to flow together so neatly. It was pretty in an efficient sort of way, but perhaps she was looking into it a little too much. She set the note aside and looked at the second letter, addressed to ‘Miss Sara Ryder’ in a thick, heavy script. She didn’t open it, just stared at the handwriting, too surprised to do otherwise.

How had Scott found her?


	13. Party Crashers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry, once again, for the delayed post. I'm apparently in a funk and the only thing I have much energy for right now is Red Dead Redemption II. Thank goodness this fic is already written! Side Note: LOOK AT THESE BEAUTIFUL BABIES! *squeals for eternity*

 

 

Sara hissed as she slid the delicate metal through the hole in her ear. It’d been years since she’d worn earrings, and had even forgone wearing them at her father’s funeral since he’d hated that she’d had her ears pierced to begin with. Her mother had insisted, saying that all the women in Elendel wore earrings, and that their daughter would be no exception. Her father had argued that none of the other daughters of the Senate Houses were Coinshots and that Sara needn’t play by their rules. In the end, Sara had wanted to please her ailing mother, but she only wore the jewelry when her father wouldn’t be around to see it.

For this, she had gone to several shops in the Port until she found something elegant enough to suit her needs. The delicate drop was made of an allomantically inert alloy chain in a bright, shining silver with three small cobbles from the beach threaded over it. They rattled softly when she moved her head and were beautiful and elegant without being gaudy.

Her hair was up in a complicated, twisting bun that Paaran Shie had helped her with, but a few strands had been left out to frame her face. Though facial powders and glosses were popular in Elendel, Sara was uncertain if the fashion had made its way as far as the Port. She hated the feeling of the powder, and was happy to forgo the product in favor of her own fresh skin.

Her dress was another area in which she’d trumped convention. Current fashion, at least in Elendel, called for wide, bustling skirts with high-necked, fitted bodices with long sleeved overcoats. And in the misty evenings of the temperate Elendel Basin, that might work. But in the humid, balmy nights of the Port, Sara would die of heat stroke if she wore such a thing. She deferred to Paaran Shie in this matter to modify a Basin style dress into something she could breathe in, as well as move should she need to.

The end result was a shimmering, pale blue gown that billowed softly as she walked, the black ribbon around her ribcage enhancing her bosom without being indecent, while permitting the skirt to flow freely to just mid-calf. The neck was scooped and rounded with off the shoulder straps that revealed more skin than would be proper in Elendel. But she wasn’t in Elendel, and Paaran assured her that angara fashion allowed for such revealing cuts. The real issue had been finding shoes that were acceptable to her while remaining in style with the dress. The compromise had been a heeled black ankle boot.

Wincing, she pressed the remaining earring into her left ear and glanced down at the letter from her brother, still unopened on her bedside table.

“Will you not read it?” Sam asked her.

“Not tonight,” she said. She turned to look at herself in the mirror, and was pleased with the end result.

She had never felt more feminine, and yet more herself. She pressed the ribbon around her waist as flat as she could, but there were a few bulges she would never be able to smooth out. Paaran had sewn tiny slots into the fabric, allowing Sara to tuck vials of metal shavings into it, in case she needed them. Also, the skirt was free flowing enough to allow her to holster her pistol high on her thigh. She would have preferred her shotgun, given the close quarters of a ball, but the larger gun was just too obvious, even under the dress.

“And why not?” Sam continued.

“Because I am determined to have a good time tonight,” she said, looking at him in the mirror. “And no doubt Scott’s letter is full of depressing news and pleas for me to return home to him.” She stood up straighter, tilting her head slightly to appreciate the length of her neck and the effect the movement had on her dangling hair and earrings. “I will not spoil this evening with Ryder family woes.”

“And after this party?”

“I promise I will read the letter tomorrow,” she said, turning on the balls of her feet to face him. “Now, how do I look?”

The dog looked her over and then shifted a shoulder. “Like yourself, but less likely to kill someone.”

She grinned. “Perfect!” She took one last look at herself in the mirror, shrugged into her mistcoat, and then made to leave the room. Sam followed her down the stairs and she looked at him over her shoulder. “Where are you going?” She whispered.

“With you,” he whispered back.

“I can hardly take my giant dog into this party.”

He rolled large, brown eyes. “Hardly,” he agreed. “But your giant dog can circle the perimeter and do his part to keep you safe.”

“It’s a party, not an infiltration of some impenetrable fortress,” she said. Though, she had to admit he had a point.

“From my perspective, it all looks the same,” he said. He was about to say something else when he cocked his head, sat on his haunches and began panting.

“Ah!” Paaran said as she rounded the corner. “There you are! And aren’t you a vision,” she crooned. She fawned over Sara for a long moment praising the younger woman’s appearance and begging her to allow her to do her hair more frequently.

“Thank you, Paaran,” Sara said. “For all your help. But I must go, I’m going to be late!”

“Oh, of course, dear.” The woman said, following her to the door. “Have fun,” she called. “Don’t let Reyes get you into too much trouble!”

Sara laughed at that, but made no promises before she hurried out of the inn, Sam close on her heels. The dog fell back as she drew closer to the Mayoral Estate, it was a clear night so they couldn’t rely on the mists to cloak them. Bright lights and the sound of music from the mansion filled the night; apparently the party was in full swing already. She paused at the gate, but there was no sign of Reyes.

She turned in place, trying to spot him, but he wasn’t among the line of people trickling through the check point. Unsure of what else to do, Sara approached the guards.

“Name?” One asked, his voice low and uninterested.

“Sara Ryder,” she said.

He poured over an extensive list, but shook his head. “Sorry, you’re not on the list.”

She was about to explain who she was, that she was there with someone, or that she’d even worked for Sloane, but a hand on the small of her back jolted her out of speaking at all.

“She’s with me,” the smooth voice said. “Reyes Vidal.”

She glanced up at him, though with her heels they were closer to even than usual. He smirked, but didn’t look at her directly, his eyes only for the guard as he searched for the name.

“Ah, there you are.” The guard looked up and nodded. “Please enjoy the party.”

Reyes turned molten amber eyes on her. “I’m sure we will.” His voice was low, almost conspiratorial if he’d been quieter, but she was certain the guard had heard him, because the man cleared his throat awkwardly. Sara blushed as Reyes ushered her through the gate and into the garden.

They walked slowly, enjoying the general splendor of Sloane’s ball. The garden hosted a series of candelabrum giving the garden a flickering, almost magical atmosphere. The firelight glinted and glimmered on the bubbling water of the fountains as a string quartet played soft music, and the occasional firefly danced through the bushes and trees.

“You look wonderful tonight,” Reyes murmured at her ear.

She smiled and blushed slightly. “Thank you,” she said. “You look quite dashing yourself.” She was sure he knew it, but that didn’t make her want to say it any less.

He wore black pants, a crisp white shirt under a black coat, and a cravat that matched her dress exactly. She stared at it and he smirked. “Paaran Shie made it for me,” he confided. “She insisted we match in some way.”

Sara laughed at that, her fingers finding the tails of the cravat to confirm it was the same fabric as her dress. “That woman’s matchmaking skills are positively occult.”

He raised a dark brow at her, looping his arm through hers. “And how’s our match?”

Sara shrugged, feigning indifference. “She approved, but she did suggest I not allow you to drag me into too much trouble.”

Reyes laughed, his head falling back to accommodate the sound. It was the most open she had ever seen him and it was bewitching. “Has she met you? You’re just as much trouble as I am!”

She smiled, unable to even pretend to be offended. Then she realized what was missing. “Your goggles!” She gripped his bicep, stopping them in the middle of a busy path of the garden.

He smiled. “I can go without them for one night,” he said.

She stared at him, and then shrugged out of her coat.

“Sara, no,” he said, trying to stop her. “You don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do!” She said. She folded the heavy leather coat over her left arm and then looped her free arm through his. “I didn’t think you’d show without the goggles,” she admitted.

He glanced down at her, warmth in his eyes. “At least let me pay to check the coat,” he said.

She grinned up at him. “Oh, of course,” she said. That earned her another laugh, and she found herself hoping that he would be so free with them all evening.

They entered the house, if it could be called that, and Reyes paid to check her coat. He even tipped the clerk extra to be sure it was well cared for, which made Sara look away and blink fiercely. He ducked his head down to meet her eyes, but she nodded that she was okay, and they moved further into the house.

There were people everywhere, talking, eating, drinking, and as they waded their way into the large ballroom, dancing. There was another string quartet there, playing much more lively songs as groups and couples swirled and bobbed through the room.

Sara experienced an odd sense of homesickness and revulsion as she watched the pairs move across the room. It had been so long since she’d been to a ball of any kind that she’d forgotten what they were like.

“Are you all right?” Reyes asked.

She looked at him and realized she’d been frowning at the room. “I’m fine,” she promised. “I just haven’t been to a party like this in a very long time.”

He nodded and led her toward a small bar, where Umi of all people poured drinks. The bartender looked up to see them and smirked. “I guess Zia wasn’t an issue after all, eh Vidal?”

He scowled at her. “As usual Umi, you’re social graces are sub par.”

“It’s all part of the experience you pay for,” she said, grinning. “What’re you having?”

“Whiskey, neat,” Sara and Reyes said in unison.

Even the sour bartender couldn’t hide her amusement. “It’s the only way I serve it,” she chimed, and they all got a chuckle out of that. She handed off the drinks, which Reyes paid for, and then the pair moved off to circle the dance floor.

Sara tried to control her breathing, but she couldn’t hide the tremor in her hand as she sipped her drink.

“Sara,” Reyes murmured. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

She guided him toward the back of the room and was pleased to find a pair of doors that led to a balcony. They stepped out into the warm night and Sara tried not to gulp at the clear air.

“I’m sorry,” she said, after her panicky moment had passed. “The last time I was at a function like this…”

Tentative fingers tucked one of the stray strands of hair back behind her ear, and then guided her face to look at his. “What?”

“My mother wanted a ball in her honor of her birthday,” she started. The words were easy enough, and it’d been over five years. She should be over this. “And we had it, but she was too sick to really participate by then.” She took a deep breath. “Dad helped her dance once, and then the rest of the party we all helped keep her entertained and comfortable.” Sara took a deep drink of her whiskey. “She died a week later.” The words fell from her lips, and she regretted them immediately. Reyes didn’t deserve this, he just wanted to have a good night, and she wanted to give it to him. Sara just hadn’t realized how much trauma that night had caused her.

“Rust and Ruin,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m so sorry, Reyes,” she said.

“We don’t have to stay,” he said at the same time.

They gawped at each other, and then chuckled.

“But, seriously,” he continued. “If this is too much, we don’t have to stay.”

She shook her head. “No way,” she said. “We’re going to have a good night,” she promised. “I just need to drink this,” she lifted her glass, “and maybe one more.”

He eyed her, uncertain, but she didn’t waver. “All right,” he said. “But please let me know if you need to get out. I don’t mind, honestly.”

She smiled, the warmth of the whiskey in her chest multiplying as she looked at him. They stood on the balcony for a while, sipping their drinks and talking. She talked more about her childhood and he told her about his youth in a dodgy end of Elendel.

“I’m Terris-blooded,” he said. “But not enough for the Terris community to take me in.” He shrugged as he spoke, his nearly empty glass hovering before his lips. “It didn’t matter what I could offer them, I didn’t have the bloodline to warrant their time.”

Sara frowned. “So what did you do?”

He glanced at her from the side of his eye and finished his whiskey. “I worked, a lot, doing whatever I could.”

She nodded. She didn’t understand, not really, but she’d heard similar stories from colleagues in Nexus who had turned to the corporation because their only other option was the Roughs. How different might their lives have been if Reyes had taken a commission with Nexus?

The slow, romantic song ended, and Reyes held out his palm to her. “Dance with me?”

She looked at his hand and then finished her whiskey in a single swallow. “I would love to,” she said, abandoning the glass on the balcony railing. He grinned at her and took her hand, leading her to the dance floor. She smiled at him as they faced each other and the song started. She was surprised to find she knew the song and the dance.

She bowed her head from the neck, dipping at the knees as the viola moved through the opening of the song. She knew right away that Reyes didn’t know the steps, so she guided him through it, grinning the whole time. By the end of the song it felt as if they were the only dancers in the room, the energy between them crackling as the world outside fell away.

And then a tall angaran woman, with deep brown skin and long dark braids approached them, clapping and grinning from ear to ear. The song had ended, apparently, though they were both bewildered by the fact.

“That was lovely,” the woman crowed. “Truly, watching you two was simply magnetic.”

Reyes grinned, and Sara was certain she saw the creep of a blush on his cheeks. “Keema,” he said. “This is Sara Ryder. Sara, this is my friend, Keema Dorhgun.”

Sara smiled as she shook Keema’s hand. “I wasn’t aware Reyes had friends,” she said. “Just contacts and colleagues.”

Keema laughed and it was a bright and intoxicating sound. “I’m those things too,” she promised. “Who do you think got him the invitation?”

Sara grinned, realizing that she liked this woman and wasn’t the least bit threatened by her. Keema smiled at Reyes and it was warm and affectionate, but like that of a sibling, not a lover.

Keema turned wide, dark eyes back to Sara. “I simply must hear how the two of you met, Reyes. You spoke of her, but you did not express just how lovely she was.”

Both Sara and Reyes blushed at that, but she let him tell the story of their meeting in Kralla’s Song and how she’d helped him with various jobs in the Port since then.

“So we have you to thank for ending the vicious murders,” the woman said. She caught the eye of a server and ordered them all another round of drinks.

Sara smirked. “Reyes helped.”

Keema laughed as Reyes beamed down at his date. “It’s nice to be recognized,” he said with a smirk of his own. They talked a bit more waiting for their drinks, but as soon as they arrived Reyes took his and knocked it back. “Now,” he hissed. “If you ladies will excuse me for a moment,” he said. He didn’t finish his thought before he walked away from them and further into the mansion.

Sara frowned at his back, but Keema didn’t let her mind dwell on it for long.

“It’s best not to pry into Reyes’ affairs,” she said. “Over the years I’ve come to learn to trust him; he’s always doing what’s best.”

Sara wanted to trust the woman, but she couldn’t help but worry. They’d had a nice evening so far, she thought, but what if he hadn’t? What if she’d shared too much about her family? She bid her farewell to Keema and moved through the room, even stopping to speak briefly with Sloane before she realized that Reyes had the ticket for her mistcoat. If he’d left her there, she wouldn’t be able to retrieve it without him. With that in mind, Sara knocked back the last of her drink and hurried off to find her date.


	14. Sharing is Caring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Y'all. I love this chapter. I love this chapter's artwork. It gives me all of the wonderful warm feelings. I hope it does you too!

Reyes burned tin to listen for anyone approaching the storage closet he’d broken into. He hated to leave Ryder behind, but a good source had promised him that Sloane had her hands on an extremely rare bottle of whiskey from Elendel, and he needed to take it from her. Partly because he loved any excuse to stick it to Sloane, but mostly because he wanted to share it with Sara. Of course, he needed to find the damn thing before he could share its contents.

Sloane’s organization was a mess. Crates were stacked haphazardly with identifying markers in different locations on each of them, nothing was labeled, and nothing made sense. Reyes had never seen a storeroom so disorganized, and it made him incredibly frustrated. It also made him want to take the matter into his own hands and clean up the mess, but instead he would use Sloane’s sloppiness to his advantage.

After he found the rusting whiskey.

Heels echoed through the hall outside, the steps quick and light. The whisper of skirts rustling told him to expect a party-goer, not a guard, so he kept searching. Probably someone looking for the restroom, not someone out to expose his attempt at burglary. The door opened behind him, and he doused his tin as he spun to find Ryder standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and her toe tapping furiously.

“I should have known you were up to something,” she snapped.

He held up his hands in surrender. “It’s not what it looks like,” he said.

She raised and eyebrow at him. “So, you’re not using me as a distraction so you can go through Sloane’s stuff?”

He winced. “All right, fine. It is what it looks like, but I promise it’s for both our benefit.”

Her hands moved to her hips and her eyes flashed as she marched toward him. “We were supposed to be having a night out, and then you abandoned me so you could steal from Sloane?”

“Ryder,” he said, lowering his voice in the hopes that she would follow suit. “Trust me.” She opened her mouth to argue further, but he shushed her with a finger to her lips. He burned his tin and heard the steady thump of boots approaching. “Rust and Ruin,” he cursed under his breath. “Someone’s coming.” He turned his eyes on her, desperation warring for release on his face. He could most likely talk his way out of this, but he didn’t need to land himself on Sloane’s shit list when everything was lining up just right. “We need a distraction.”

Sara looked up at him and then her eyes flicked down to his lips. He hardly had time to analyze the look when her mouth was on his. She pressed close to him, backing him against a stack of crates as his hands cupped her face. Her hands fisted on the the lapel of his coat and he couldn’t suppress the pleased sounds that climbed up his throat as he closed his eyes. She returned them in kind, and he almost forgot why she had kissed him in the first place.

“Oh!” A startled voice announced the Outcast’s presence. He cleared his throat, but the pair kept kissing, apparently unaware of the guard’s arrival. “I’ll just…” the man said. He opened a crate, removed something, and then hurried out of the room.

Reyes opened his eyes to find that they were alone once more. Their mouths moved in tandem for a moment longer, and then he broke the kiss. “I think we’re in the clear,” he murmured. He looked down at her face, her eyes dark and slightly unfocused, her lips parted as she tilted her face up to him.

“Maybe another kiss,” she whispered, her eyes darting to his mouth and back up again. “Just to be sure?”

He chuckled and released his grip on her neck. “Now you’re just teasing me.” She laughed and backed away, allowing him to continue his hunt for the prized bottle. He clambered up an unstable tower of crates, and let out a triumphant cry. He threw the lid off the trunk and pulled a large bottle from within. He hopped down and turned to show her his treasure.

She cocked a hip and raised an eyebrow. “All of this for a bottle of whiskey?”

He tucked the bottle into his arm, cradling it like a child. “This is the only bottle of Mount Milgrom in the world, from before the Ascension.” He stared at her as if she were a heathen. “This isn’t whiskey, it’s treasure.”

She glanced at the bottle and licked her lips. “I hope you were planning on sharing,” she said.

He grinned at her and took her hand as he tucked the bottle under his coat and under his arm. “We’ll see,” he teased, and led her from the room.

They stopped to get her mistcoat, which he helped her into, and then he led her out into the gardens. Her hand in his tightened and she pulled him to a stop just before the gates. He turned to face her, worried that he had done something wrong. “What is it?”

She smiled at him. “I have something I want to show you,” she said. “Follow me.”

So he did, his hand in hers as she led him down twisting alleys until they reached the tallest building in the Port. she turned to him, breathless and grinning, her face flushed with exertion and excitement.

“Do you trust me?” She asked.

He thought about it for a moment, unsure of what she had planned. In the months he’d known her she had proved herself to be kind, resourceful, and capable. She had helped him when she didn’t have to, had gone out of her way to help the people of Kadara Port. All the evidence suggested that she was truly good, something that hadn’t been in his life in years.

“Yes,” he said, the word was on his lips before he could talk himself out of it, or think too much on what his answer really meant.

Her grin widened and she dug a metal vial out from behind the ribbon around her waist. She downed the contents and then hiked up the right side of her skirt, blushing as she retrieved a small pistol from the holster on her thigh.

“Clever and sneaky,” he said, causing her blush to deepen.

“Stand back,” she said, and he obliged her. She fired her pistol down into the ground, lodging the bullet into the street. The sound echoed through the narrow road, and Sara winced. “Oops,” she said, and then waved him back to her. She wrapped her arms around him and looked up at him. “Hold on tight,” she said.

And then they were flying.

Reyes understood the basics of Steelpushing; allomantic metals could be Pushed against, and the lighter of the two would be sent soaring in the opposite direction. In this case, Sara and Reyes combined were lighter than the mass of the earth, and so they shot up into the air. He’d seen Coinshots at work before, had seen Sara use her abilities numerous times, and considered himself familiar with the concept.

But being familiar with an idea and actually experiencing it were two completely different things.

The wind roared in his ears and his grip around her waist tightened. The building blurred past them as they climbed higher, and Sara let out a jubilant laugh. They reached the top of the building and slowed, her arm around his waist tightening.

“Grab the ledge,” she said.

“What?” He gaped at her and she laughed.

“I’ve got you,” she promised. “Grab the ledge and climb onto the roof.” Her voice was clear and confident, as if flying into the air to climb onto a six story building was perfectly normal behavior. Though, he realized, for her it probably was.

It took some considerable effort, but he was able to release her and clamber onto the roof before they lost all momentum. She hovered there for a moment, to be sure he was safe, and then she followed after him. He would have helped her; climbing in that dress couldn’t be easy, but he was too busy laying on the rooftop, trying to get his heart to stop battering against his chest.

She laughed at him, her own demeanor calm and unaffected, even if her hair was windswept and falling from her delicate updo. He watched her, the moonlight illuminating her against a background of black sky and stars, until she stepped over to help him up.

“You all right?” She asked once he was back on his own two feet.

He nodded. “I don’t know what I thought Steelpushing would be like,” he panted. “But I was not prepared for that.”

“No one is the first time,” she said. “When my dad first taught me how to Steelpush he had us bound between the two tallest towers in Elendel in a race to the top.”

He glanced at her, unable to keep the shock from his face. “That was the first lesson?”

She nodded, her mouth set in a hard line. “It was slow going, and he had to drop down a few times to keep me from breaking my neck.” She shook her head, looking down at her feet. “But when we finally got to the top, I understood why he wanted to take me there for my first lesson.”

He followed her as she moved to sit on the edge of the roof, her feet dangling as she faced the sea. “And why’s that?”

“Because nothing could explain what it means to be a Coinshot better than a view of the city from the very top of it.” She gestured wide with one arm, drawing his attention to the Port as it spread beneath them.

The streets below them were mostly dark, though the busier roads in the center of town glowed dimly with oil lanterns. In the distance Sloane’s mansion was bright and glaring, and far below them was the twinkle of candlelight in the slums. From that angle the Port looked serene and vulnerable, a version of it he had never known.

She had given that to him.

He sat down beside her, his legs stiff with nerves, and stared out at the town around them. “Thank you,” he murmured. “It’s beautiful.”

She nodded. “It’s better at sunset,” she admitted. “But this is nice too.”

“Spending so much time in the slums,” he shook his head and retrieved the bottle of whiskey from his coat. “It’s easy to forget sometimes.” He opened the bottle and sniffed at it, savoring the warm, smoky aroma. Then he offered her the bottle.

Her eyes went wide as she realized he offered her the first sip, but she took it from him and sniffed at it too. Then she tilted the bottle back and took a small drink. Her neck arched and he watched her swallow, the moonlight playing in her hair and on her earrings.

“What about you, Ryder,” he said as he accepted the bottle back. “Was Kadara Port everything you hoped it would be?” He took a drink and moaned at the rich flavor. It had been worth the risk to get his hands on this whiskey.

She shrugged, taking the bottle from him. “I didn’t really have any expectations,” she said. “I just needed to get away from Elendel.” Another swig from the bottle, and then it was back in his hands.

“What happened to make you run to the Roughs?” He asked. He wasn’t sure if she would be willing to answer, but he’d wanted to ask for so long and the timing felt right.

She sighed. “I left the day of my dad’s funeral,” she said. She took another drink. “Just, packed a bag and ran.”

“Why?” It was his turn to drink.

Sara stared out over the Port for a moment, and he thought she might not answer him. “We were on a mission in Weathering,” she said. “We were ambushed by the Kett, and I got myself surrounded.” She shook her head. “It was only my second mission, and my first deployment with a Pathfinder unit. I was in over my head.”

“The Kett are nasty, Ryder,” he said, handing her the bottle. “There are plenty of people here who can tell you just how brutal they are, and even more who can’t. They aren’t around any more to tell the story.”

She nodded at his grim words, but they didn’t seem to help. “He should have left me,” she whispered. “We had the objective, it was my fault I got separated from the squad. He should have left me there.”

“But he couldn’t,” Reyes said. No loving father could.

“He jumped into the fray and we managed to take them out, every last one of the bastards.”

It was the first time he’d heard her curse. “But…?”

“But there were too many of them for us to come out unscathed. Dad took a bullet to the chest, one of my-” She stopped abruptly and took a shuddering breath. “One of the ricochets off my steelpush,” she said.

He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t have the heart to ask for the details in that moment.

“We rushed him to the surgeon,” she said, but had to stop as another wave of emotion threatened to drown her.

Reyes shook his head. “Weathering’s big by Roughs standards, but their clinics are nothing compared to the hospitals and surgeons in Elendel.”

She nodded. “That’s the story of how the great Alec Ryder died,” she said. “Saving his overeager daughter from her own stupidity.”

He doubted that the Pathfinder would have seen it that way, and he was about to say as much, but Sara changed the subject.

“What about you, Reyes?” She sipped from the bottle and handed it back to him. “Why did you come to Kadara Port?”

He fiddled with the bottle in his hands, gazing out of the Port as he thought. He’d left Elendel because there was nothing left for him there. His father had been killed when he was fourteen, his mother died of a wasting sickness not long after that. His brothers had followed in his footsteps, doing whatever it took to survive, but they weren’t half so good at life in the vicious street gangs. They lived fast and died young, all because Reyes hadn’t been able to secure them a life that was safer, he hadn’t been able to provide for them, just like their father had struggled to.

“My whole life I was stepped on and told I wasn’t good enough,” he whispered. He would never forgive the Terriswoman that had sneered at him as he begged for her to take his brothers into the community. They had died because they hadn’t been Terris enough for her. “I came to the Roughs to prove them all wrong.” He took a strong pull from the bottle. “I came here to be someone.”

It was the most honest thing he had ever said to anyone, the most vulnerable he had ever let himself be in front of another person. He was a fool, opening up to her this way. She would laugh, think him weak, or pathetic. Maybe it was for the best, anyway. His feelings for her were quickly growing out of his control, and the longer he kept his true identity from her, the more likely the news would destroy whatever was blossoming between them.

She shifted beside him, the movement startling him from his spiraling thoughts. He watched the movement out of the corner of his eye as she looked at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes. He couldn’t bear to see the distaste in her blue eyes.

“You’re someone to me,” she said, her voice so soft that, had the wind been any stronger, he would have missed the words. But as it was, they echoed in his ears, and he wished for the first time that he was an Archivist, so that he could keep the memory of her voice, of those words, for the rest of his days.

He looked at her and there was no creeping blush on her neck, no hint of embarrassment or regret at her words. Nor was there disappointment or derision. She meant those words, and she meant him to believe them. He reached up to cup her face, brushing a wild lock of hair back behind one ear. She leaned into his touch, her eyes wide but unafraid.

“I’m starting to think that kiss was more than just a distraction,” he said. Typical Reyes, deflecting emotion with wit and sarcasm, but she didn’t seem to mind. It was an easy thing to close the distance between them, but he did so slowly to give her time to back out. He wanted this, wanted his lips on hers, his hands in her hair, but it was all for naught if she didn’t want him in return. He watched her face as he leaned down towards her, and she closed her eyes, her lips parted ever so slightly.

She startled him with how quickly her mouth met his. There was no hesitation on her part, and Reyes returned her fervor as he kissed her back.

They sat on the tallest building in the Port, the ocean roaring far below them as the town’s lights slowly flickered out. The night was clear, the moon and stars bright above them, and it was comfortably warm. Reyes couldn’t have planned a better atmosphere for this moment, but as they kissed he found that, for once, his thoughts were completely occupied on the person in front of him.

She consumed his mind in that moment, the smoky warmth of whiskey on her breath, the pleasant little moans she made as his hand moved to the back of her head. There were no Outcasts, no Collective. The Charlatan was a distant memory, because they were just Sara and Reyes as their lips danced. She was everything in that moment.

She changed everything.

 


	15. The Duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: We're almost there y'all! Just a few more chapters. I hope you've enjoyed the story, and I wish you all luck in the upcoming give-away!

 

 

Sara woke the next morning with a grin on her face. Despite the late night and the bottle of whiskey they’d shared, she felt fresh, revitalized as she remembered the kisses shared on the rooftop, the town sprawled beneath them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile at this hour,” Sam said.

Sara shrugged as she climbed out of bed. “Maybe I’ve never had a good enough reason before,” she said. The sun was high, but it poured through her window to warm the floorboards at her feet. Sam lay at the foot of the bed, watching her from too-intelligent eyes.

She dressed quickly in simple clothes; she would bathe later and dress for the day, but for now she smelled coffee and bacon downstairs. She paused as her eye caught the letter still unopened on her desk.

“You promised, Sara,” Sam reminded her.

She sighed. “Yes, I suppose I did.” She finished dressing then glanced at the dog. “I’ll have breakfast and then I’ll read it,” she said.

She wasn’t sure if dogs could frown, but Sam did a good job of looking displeased nonetheless.

“I’ll bring you bacon,” she sang.

The kandra harrumphed and then rested his head on his paws in defeat. Sara smiled at him and then hurried down the stairs, humming to herself as she did.

“Someone’s in a good mood this morning,” Paaran noted as Sara entered the kitchen. “Hopefully that means that Reyes was a gentleman last night.”

Sara’s smile brightened, but she made no comment as she sat at the small table.

Paaran rolled her eyes. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” She served up the eggs and bacon, as well as fresh coffee, and the pair sat and ate, chatting about the party and all manner of small talk. Sara had come to enjoy her quiet moments with the angaran woman, she was lively and clever, without being deceitful. She treated Sara like a younger sister, which was new to her.

They sat for an hour or so, and Sara helped Paaran clean up after their meal. Then she knew she couldn’t put off reading Scott’s letter any longer. She snagged a couple strips of thick bacon and made her way back to her room. Sam munched on the bacon happily as she sat at her desk, staring at the envelope.

It was Scott’s handwriting, to be sure. He’d always made a point to have perfect penmanship, and often criticized her own sloppy handwriting. Plus, no one put that same loop on the ‘y’ in their last name like he did.

“The letter is unlikely to bite you,” Sam noted, finished with his treat.

Sara rolled her eyes. “The letter isn’t, but Scott’s words might.”

“Do you think he is upset with you?”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” She asked. “I ran away the night of our father’s funeral, after he asked me not to. I haven’t written to him in almost six months.” She shook her head. “I’m not even sure how he found me.”

Sam looked down at the floorboards, quickly averting his gaze from hers.

“Sam?” She glared at the kandra. “What did you do?”

The hound refused to look at her. “I may have written a quick note to your brother,” he said.

“Why?” She gaped at Sam. “What did you say?”

“I penned the letter as if I were you,” he said. “And I let him know where we were staying.” The dog finally looked at her. “I said nothing more.”

She sighed and picked up the letter, opening it with the sharp blade that lived in the desk. She glared at Sam over the paper as she unfolded it. It was stiff and thick vellum, of course. Scott would hardly write a letter on anything less.

 

> _Sara,_
> 
>  
> 
> _I have to admit, I was surprised to hear from you. Thank you for updating me as to your whereabouts. How you got so far as Kadara Port in so short a time is beyond me. I hope you’re not working Sam too hard. Your letter was timely, as I have news to share with you. The House is doing well, and so far I have been made to feel welcome in the Senate. So welcome, in fact, that I now feel confident in publicizing my relationship with Gil. The engagement will be announced by the time you read this, and I hope I can convince you to come home for the wedding. We’ve settled on a date in the early spring._
> 
> _I hope your time in the Roughs has been what you hoped for. I know we don’t always get along, but I mean it when I say I miss my older sister. Come home soon._
> 
>  
> 
> _Best,_
> 
> _Scott_

 

Sara groaned, despite the warmth she felt blooming in her chest. Her brother deserved to be happy, and she adored Gil. She was happy for them, but the last thing she wanted to do was return to Elendel within the next six months. She had always intended to return to the city, but the longer she was in the Port, the more time she spent with Reyes, the less Elendel felt like home.

“Does the letter bring bad news?” Sam sat at her hip, concern in his eyes.

“No,” she said. “It’s actually a perfectly pleasant letter. Scott’s getting married.”

Shaggy dog brows lifted. “Then why do you seem displeased?”

“Because that means we have to go back.”

“Was that not the plan?”

Sara stared down at the letter, unable to bring herself to look at the kandra. “It was the plan,” she mumbled.

“However, you no longer wish to return to Elendel.”

Sara stood from the desk, the chair screeching across the wooden floor. “It’s complicated, Sam.” She gathered her things to prepare for her bath, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Confused, she opened the door to find Paaran Shie wringing her hands.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Ryder, but there’s a man downstairs asking for you.”

Sara frowned. “What’s he look like?”

“Tall, muscular Basiner. Deep voice.” Paaran shrugged. “Says you’ve done work for him in the Port.”

That sounded like Kaetus, but he had never met her at the inn before. “I’ll be right down,” she said. The angaran woman nodded and left the room, her feet quiet on the steps as she returned to the lower level. Sara dropped off her things in the bathroom, and then headed downstairs.

Sure enough, Kaetus stood in the foyer looking decidedly uncomfortable in the domestic space.

“Ryder,” he greeted. He snatched his hat off his head and held out a hand for her to shake, which she accepted.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, crossing her arms and leaning one hip against the wall. “I told Sloane I wasn’t interested in her jobs after the last one.”

He grimaced. “I know, but she needs your help.”

Sara arched a brow. “What could the Queen of Kadara possibly need from me?”

He glanced around the foyer, checking to be sure they were alone. “The Charlatan has reached out to Sloane, says he wants to settle things.”

“Okay,” she said. “Sounds like a good thing. The power struggles in this town aren’t helping. If the Outcasts and the Collective can come to an agreement, things might actually get done around here.”

Kaetus scowled at her. “Sloane agrees with you.”

“I take it you don’t?”

He shook his head. “The Charlatan is too secretive. Despite our best efforts, we don’t know who they are or what their goals for the Port are.”

“So, what? You think it’s a trap?”

He gave her a disbelieving look. “And you don’t?”

Sara shrugged. “Good point. That still doesn’t tell me why Sloane needs me.”

“You may not agree with the Outcasts, but we know you aren’t in bed with the Collective either,” he said. “Sloane needs a neutral and capable third party.”

Sara chewed at her lip. “Why would I agree to that? You already said it’s a trap. Why would I agree to walk in by Sloane’s side?”

“Well, I was hoping you’d put the Port’s interests over your own. You seem to legitimately care about the people here. But, Sloane figured you might want compensation.” He grumbled irritably. “She’s ready to provide it.”

Sara sighed. Kaetus had a good point. The tensions between the two gangs had reached a crescendo over the last few weeks, and the Port wouldn’t be able to survive the tenuous balancing act for long. “Fine,” she growled. “When’s the meeting?”

“Tonight.”

“Of course it is.” She shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. “Where?”

“On the beach north of here, an old angaran cave system.” He gave her the directions and she nodded.

“I’ll be there,” she said. “I don’t know what good it will do, but I’ll be there.”

Kaetus looked at her, his face open and his eyes clouded with concern. “Hopefully your presence will keep things from escalating,” he said. “Kadara Port doesn’t need more unrest.”

Sara had some stern opinions on what the Port needed, but it was obvious that Kaetus cared for Sloane. Her angry words wouldn’t help either of them in that moment. So, she nodded instead. “I’ll do my best, Kaetus.”

“Thank you, Ryder,” he said. He nodded to her, replacing the hat on his head, and left the inn.

Paaran poked her head from around the corner. “Are you really going to help Sloane?”

Sara glanced back at her, her arms still crossed. “Maybe,” she admitted. “I’m going to see what this Charlatan has to say, and try to do what’s best for the Port.” She didn’t wait for the woman’s reply before heading back up the stairs to take her bath.

 

Reyes paced in the shadows of the cave, trying to settle his nerves. He’d planned this confrontation for months, and placed the pieces and moved them accordingly until he had Sloane right where he wanted her. She was a menace to the Port, too consumed with her own anger and status to see the death and destruction that haunted the Port. He didn’t doubt his decision to take Sloane out of the picture, but he doubted his timetable.

He told himself that Sloane had reigned long enough, that it was beyond time to take matters into his own hands, but he’d been content to bide his time, to wait for the best possible opportunity until now. But after last night, after sharing that bottle of whiskey and so much more with Sara, he knew he was out of time. The longer he waited, the longer he had to keep a part of himself from her, and the more likely it was that she would find out on her own.

She would never forgive him if that were the case. So, he had to move now. Take out Sloane, take over the Port quickly and efficiently, and then explain it all to Sara once his place on the throne was secured. It was the only way, he told himself, and yet he was still riddled with doubt. This wasn’t like him, he didn’t rush into things. He was careful, methodical in his planning, and that was why he was still alive.

He shook his head as he paced. This moment was as planned out as it could be. He’d scoped these caves for months, recruited the lieutenants that were present, and even had a getaway planned if things should fall apart. He was as prepared for his confrontation with Sloane as he could be.

He stopped his pacing and took several deep breaths. The sun was setting beyond the cavern, washing the limestone in brilliant shades of purple, orange, and pink. It was beautiful, an ironic backdrop for the deceitful murder he was about to commit. Another deep breath, and he burned the tin that lay in his belly.

Instantly he heard the steady breaths of the lieutenant laying on the outcropping behind him. They were both cloaked in deep shadows, but Reyes would step out to greet his opponent. The sniper would not.

The sound of sand shifting beneath feet caught his attention, and he froze. Sloane’s sharp voice was easy to pick out as she harped on someone. She’d brought someone along with her. He’d thought, if he took Kaetus out of the picture, Sloane would come alone. But apparently the woman was smarter than he gave her credit for.

“I’m glad he’ll be okay,” another voice said, and Reyes’ blood chilled in his veins. No. No, no, no.

“It’ll be a long recovery, but the surgeons expect him to regain full mobility,” Sloane said. “Surely you see now that the Collective is nothing more than a band of thugs?”

“Do you have any proof that it was the Collective that attacked Kaetus?” Sara asked as they paused at the entrance of the cave.

Sloane made a disgusted sound. “I don’t need proof,” she snapped. “It happened hours before this meeting is set to happen. That’s no coincidence.”

“I’m inclined to believe you,” Sara said. “But you can’t condemn people without proof.”

“Watch me,” Sloane snarled and then stomped into the cave.

Sara sighed, but followed after the Outcast leader. Reyes watched from the shadows, his tin enhanced vision bringing every detail into sharp clarity. He could see the hard line of her mouth as she glanced around the cavern, noticed the empty metal vial in her belt, and the shotgun holstered on her thigh. She was prepared to fight if she had to, but if he knew Sara, she would want to reach an agreement of some sort. But, if Ryder came to do business, he would do the same. He stuffed down his rising guilt and apprehension, and slipped into the cold mask of the Charlatan.

“Rusting prick,” Sloane groaned. “Of course they’re late.”

“Maybe they backed out,” Sara suggested. Was that hope in her voice? Regardless, that was his cue.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone,” Reyes called as he doused his tin and stepped out of the shadows. He didn’t need amplified hearing to notice Sara’s surprised gasp, though he only had eyes for Sloane.

“Reyes?” Sara breathed, and the shock and hurt in her voice made him flick his gaze to her.

“I’m supposed to be meeting the Charlatan, not some third rate smuggler,” Sloane said, waving him off.

He glared at the woman; perhaps she wasn’t as smart as he thought.

“They’re one and the same,” Sara said, putting the pieces together.

Her eyes were trained on him, he could feel it, but he couldn’t afford to let his feelings get in the way at the moment. He kept his sights on Sloane, who looked mildly impressed, and shrugged. “Surprise.”

Sara stepped closer to him, fury radiating from her. “This whole time you’ve been lying to me!”

He looked at her then, unable to do otherwise. He let his mask slip just a little, and prayed to the Survivor that it would be enough. “Not about everything,” he said, his voice soft. “You know who I really am.”

Sloane snorted, apparently bored with their little romantic drama. He turned his attention back to her in time to see her cross her arms and cock her hip. “You said you wanted to settle things. How?”

“A duel,” he said. “You and me, right now. Winner takes Kadara Port.”

Sloane laughed, but seemed intrigued. Sara did not.

“You’re going to settle this by shooting each other?” her voice was hard, but there was something fragile in the question. She was angry, but she was also afraid.

He looked at her and shrugged. “Better two people shooting each other than a lot of people shooting at each other.”

Sloane smiled and her eyes gleamed with malice. “I’ll take those terms.” She was so confident, so certain that she would best him in a contest of skill. She was wrong, and he would use that to his advantage.

He smirked at her, and the pair circled each other, their hands poised over the pistols on their hips. He waited until his back was to Ryder, until Sloane was as far from the woman as she could be, and then he winked. His lieutenant’s rifle roared through the cavern just as Sara shouted something. Sloane spun, but it was too late. The bullet took her in the gut just as another gunshot exploded from behind him.

Reyes flinched, ducking away from Ryder. It took a moment to be certain, but he wasn’t hurt, she hadn’t shot him. But the body of his sniper fell to the cave floor with a sickening thump. Reyes swallowed and took a deep breath before he looked back at Sara to find her blue eyes on his from behind the barrel of her shotgun.


	16. Runaway Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Y'all. We are so close. There's only one more chapter left! Can you believe it???? Because I certainly can't. Thank you so much for all of your comments and kudos over these 8 weeks! You're amazing!

 

 

The gun shook in her hand and she blinked through the tears in her eyes.

“Sara,” he started.

She cocked the hammer on the gun. “You lied to me,” she said. Steel burned in her gut and blue lines wavered into life as men approached from all corners of the cavern.

Reyes waved them down, and the lines halted, waiting in the shadows to see what would happen. Amber eyes watched her, guarded. This wasn’t the man that had opened up to her on the roof just last night. He wasn’t the same man that had danced with her and comforted her when her memories had proved too powerful to lock away.

He couldn’t be.

“Not about everything,” he said. “You know me, Sara.”

She didn’t lower her gun. “Do I, Reyes? Is that even your name?”

Hurt flashed across his face. “That’s what my mother called me,” he said.

Sara almost broke then. She wanted to believe him, wanted to forgive him, but she wasn’t sure she could. “Did you know?”

He frowned. “Did I know what?”

“That she would ask me to come along?”

“No,” he promised. “I asked her to come alone.”

“Then why the aluminum bullet?” She had tried to save Sloane, to Push the bullet away, but there had been no blue line: the bullet had been aluminum. So, she’d fired her shotgun and Pushed on the bullet, killing the sniper. It hadn’t been enough to save Sloane.

He glanced toward his men, but met her eyes again when he answered. “I’ve planned this moment for the better part of a year,” he said. “I took every precaution.”

“That’s an expensive precaution,” she said.

“Not when the stability of the Port is at stake,” he said.

“You expect me to believe that’s what this is all about? The well-being of the Port?” She glared at him.

“Yes,” he said. “You saw the Outcasts’ negligence, their corruption firsthand.”

“And you’re so sure you’ll do better?”

“I have to,” he said. His voice was strong, full of conviction. “Kadara Port could really be something if only someone would try.”

“Just like you,” she murmured.

He looked down at his boots and nodded. “Just like me.”

“Who else knows who you really are?” She asked.

“Keema, Kian, and the men here,” he said. “And now you.”

She kept her gun trained on him, even as her arm ached with the weight of it and her heart begged her to lower it. “Anything else you want to tell me? Any other secrets you’ve kept?”

He glanced at his men, and lowered his voice. “Yes. I’ll tell you, but not here.”

She let out a long, shaky breath. “I really want to shoot you,” she said.

“I’d really prefer you didn’t,” he replied, a wry smirk on his lips.

She watched him for a long moment, wavering between what her heart and head told her. She understood his logic; she’d rolled into town with the Pathfinder insignia on her mistcoat and her history with the Nexus no secret. The Charlatan was a secretive role by its very nature, he couldn’t just tell anyone. But, he’d had months to tell her the truth as they’d grown closer. They’d been so open and vulnerable on the rooftop last night, and the fact that even after that he couldn’t trust her… it hurt a lot more than she wanted to admit.

She lowered her shotgun, not quite comfortable enough to holster it. “What happens now?”

With the pressure of her gun off him, Reyes moved toward the mouth of the cave, away from the prying ears of his lieutenants. “My lieutenant inside the Outcasts is taking over the Mayoral Estate as we speak,” he said as she followed him.

“Keema,” she said, putting the pieces together.

He smirked over his shoulder at her. “She’ll be the face of the Port,” he said. “If everything goes to plan, the takeover will be smooth, casualties at a minimum.” He regarded her and took a deep breath. “I’ve never told anyone what I’m about to tell you,” he murmured, his voice awed, as if he couldn’t believe he was about to share this part of himself with her. “I told you I’m Terris-blooded,” he started. “What I didn’t tell you is that I’m a ferring.”

Sara raised a brow in surprise. “What kind?”

“Bronze,” he murmured, looking out at the sea.

Sara wracked her brain to remember the feruchemical abilities linked to bronzeminds. “Wakefulness,” she said, realization settling over her. That explained his sudden exhaustion after her long Oblivion-addled night; he’d been tapping his metalminds and run out.

“And,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “I’m a tin misting.”

She frowned. “That’s a powerful combination.”

He smirked but the tension soured the expression. “It has its uses,” he admitted. “Scouting and planning are what I do best. I’m not sure I could have pulled this off without my abilities,” he added.

“It sounds like you got everything you wanted,” she said, unable to bring herself to look at him as she stood at his side.

“If you’d asked me three months ago,” he said, his eyes on her face. But she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I would have agreed with you. But now…?”

“Why didn’t you trust me?” She asked, hurt and anger bubbling back up in her chest. She looked at him then, searching his face for any hint of truth, even though she wasn’t sure she would believe it even if she found it there.

“I liked the way you looked at me,” he admitted. He stepped closer to her, testing her boundaries. “I didn’t want that to change.” He looked so fragile in that moment, the fading sunlight setting his amber eyes aglow as the sun sank into the sea.

Sara leaned into him slightly, as if drawn to him simply because he was near. She kissed him softly, her lips trembling against his.

“Don’t do it,” he pleaded as she broke their kiss. It was the closest to begging she had ever heard from him. “Don’t run away from this.”

Her lips found his again, a quick press of her mouth to his. “You’re not the man I thought you were,” she breathed as she stepped back from him. The words took more strength than she thought she had, and they cost more than she’d been prepared to pay. They wounded her just as surely as they did him.

Sorrow swept over his face, his eyes dark and his mouth hard as he kept his emotions under control. “I wanted to be.”

Sara nodded, the words hitting her like steel, and swallowed against the lump in her throat. He closed the distance between them as she reached into her belt for a coin, but it was too little too late. She dropped the coin and Pushed.

“Sara, wait-” He reached for her, his fingers snatching at the sleeve of her mistcoat. For a second, it halted her flight, but she shrugged out of it and soared out of the cavern. She didn’t look back as she fled from the cave and darted across the sand. The image of Reyes watching her run, her father’s mistcoat hanging from his fingertips, wasn’t one she wanted to carry with her all the way back to Elendel.

 

Reyes stood in the mouth of the cavern, the waves crashing the only sound in his ears as he watched Ryder bound away from him. Her mistcoat hung from his hands, still warm with her residual heat. A heat he had clung to just a moment before, a heat he would never feel again.

“Should we go after her?” A lieutenant asked from the shadows.

Reyes hid his surprise at the man’s nearness and shook his head. “No. I would only send you to your death,” he said. “Besides, she won’t tell anyone.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Reyes glared at his operative. “She’s a runner,” he growled, unwilling to explain himself beyond that. But he knew that Sara would avoid speaking about him, about the Port at all, as much as she could. Briefly he considered rushing to Aya Inn, trying to intercept her before she fled the town. His imagination thrilled at what could be if he swooped into the inn and convinced her to stay, but he knew it was useless. She burned steel to get away from him, was desperate enough to put distance between them that she left behind her singlemost prized possession. She was as good as gone already.

And he had work to do.

Carefully, he folded the mistcoat and draped it over one arm. Then he addressed his men. “Get rid of the bodies, then route out any Outcast cells in the slums,” he said. “Offer them clemency. If they accept, let them go. If not…”

The men nodded. He didn’t need to explain beyond that. His lieutenants had been painstakingly selected for their unique blend of tactical brilliance, obedience, and ruthlessness. As long as he treated them with adequate respect and compensation, and he acted with the Port’s best interests at heart, they would follow him. He watched a moment as they moved to clear any evidence of the deaths in the cave, and then he started the long walk back to the slums.

The sun steadily descended into the ocean, bringing a cool breeze and peaceful darkness to his feverish thoughts. There was much that would need to be done in the coming months. Settling Keema’s place as the acting Mayor would be the easiest step, followed by removing any lingering Outcasts and the inevitable opportunistic types that would attempt to dethrone her. Once their rule was undisputed they could start the arduous work of fixing the Port.

The breeze gusted, spraying him with fine salt mist and bringing a chill to his skin. He hesitated for a moment, and then slid into the mistcoat. It smelled of old leather, soft and warm, and it smelled like her. Like the sun on the sand as the tide went out, like the smoky sweet whiskey they’d shared the night before. Sara haunted his steps as he walked, until he found himself at the lift.

There were a million other things he needed to attend to. He needed to be at Tartarus, waiting in his shadows as his agents moved through the city like the chessboard it was. But what good was being the King of Kadara if he’d had to sacrifice his Queen to take the throne?

Frustrated at his own thoughts he took the lift up and made his way to the inn. He tried to quell the hope that simmered in his chest as he approached the inn, but he knew as soon as he walked into the building that she was already gone.

Paaran Shie bolted into the foyer from the kitchen, only to frown at him. “What did you do?” She said, her voice sharp and her gaze furious.

Reyes did his best not to look too disappointed, though he was sure Paaran saw right through him. “She’s gone, then?”

“Left in a whirlwind of tears and apologies,” the angara said. “Left me more coin than anyone has ever owed me in way of thanks and then fled with that dog of hers at her heels.”

Reyes nodded and headed up the stairs.

“Where are you going?” The woman called after him, but he didn’t respond. “Is that Ryder’s coat?”

He expected her to follow him, but for once Paaran seemed to respect his desire to be left alone. He climbed the stairs slowly, as if his boots stuck to each step. He burned tin and let the faint fragrance of Ryder guide him to the right room. She’d lived there for months so it was a simple thing to find the room that had been hers. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to find, but he pushed the door open all the same.

Paaran was right; Sara had left in a whirlwind all right. Her dress from the night before hung from the back of the door, taunting him with memories of the warm press of her skin as she’d carried them up to the rooftop. Her bedclothes were unmade, mussed with the hints of her slumber. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing the window that looked out over the barn, and the desk beneath it.

Reyes stared sightlessly for a moment, his tin enhancing his hearing and sense of smell, letting him imagine she was there in the room with him. And then he tilted his head as his focus sharpened. There was something on the desk. Silently, even to his ears, he stepped over the to the writing desk and picked up the letter with trembling fingers.

The black wax seal was broken, and the handwriting within was so artfully rendered that he found it almost difficult to read. He read through it twice, absorbing the words, and smiled for the first time that night.

It would take months to get the Port firmly under his control, but once it was he knew exactly where to find his runaway queen.

 

Sara didn’t have the patience to let Sam have the horse bones, so she bought a fresh mount and the kandra followed in his dog bones. So far the kandra had been suspiciously quiet, but she knew it was just a matter of time before he started asking his questions. She rode hard the first few miles out of the Port, eager to put the memory of her months there behind her, and to keep Sam preoccupied.

But as the night wore on, the horse could only go so fast without getting hurt, and eventually there was calm and quiet. It lasted for approximately two minutes.

“What happened with Sloane and the Charlatan?” Sam asked.

Sara pursed her lips. “The Charlatan killed her,” she said after a moment’s consideration.

“And you killed the Charlatan?” The hound asked.

Sara said nothing.

“You didn’t kill the Charlatan?” Sam asked, his muffled dog’s voice pitched high in surprise.

“I tried to save Sloane,” she said. “But they used an aluminum bullet.”

“I know you were not a supporter of Sloane nor the Outcasts,” Sam said. “But I am surprised that you would permit the murderer to live.”

“I almost didn’t,” she murmured as she looked down on the horse’s mane. “I had him in my sights.”

“What stayed your hand?”

She didn’t answer, and settled her eyes on the dusty road ahead of them. By now the sea breeze was a thing of memory, and the stillness of desert hills surrounded them. From beside her, at her heel, Sam gasped and stopped walking.

“It was Vidal,” he announced.

Sara reined the horse to a stop, but didn’t look back at the kandra. She didn’t trust her own composure to keep the hurt from her face or her voice. Her silence would have to be answer enough. She nudged the horse with her calves to start walking again, and soon Sam loped to catch up with her.

“So that’s why we’re leaving,” he said. “Because Mr. Vidal is the Charlatan?”

“He lied to me,” she said from behind clenched teeth. “Every step of the way, every job was him manipulating me into his schemes. And for what? To dethrone Sloane in a bloody coup?”

“It seems that it would be rather bloodless,” Sam mused. “He removed the head of the snake, the rest will die on its own in time.” Sam paused, his head tilted. “Quite impressive, actually.”

“He lured her there under the pretense of settling hostilities and had her assassinated,” she snapped. It wasn’t impressive, it was cold, calculated, and cowardly.

“But you insisted Sloane was bad for the Port,” Sam continued.

“She was. But, that doesn’t mean I think murdering her was the answer.”

“Do you think Sloane would have relinquished her power any other way?”

Sara fell silent. She tried to imagine a scenario in which Sloane would have cooperated with Reyes, but ‘compromise’ wasn’t a part of the ruthless woman’s vocabulary. The only way to help the Port was to remove it from Sloane’s clutches. And the only way to do that was to pry it from her cold, dead hands. She knew that, she understood it, and yet she was still furious with Reyes.

“He still lied to me,” she said. “He used me to get an edge against Sloane, even after we-” She cut her words short, unwilling to give life to the memory of their kiss on the rooftop. It was bad enough that she couldn’t banish it from her thoughts, she didn’t need to share it with Sam so that he could analyze every nuance from it.

“I suppose that’s true,” Sam said. “But he also seemed to care for you, as evidenced from his devoted attention while you suffered from the effects of Oblivion and his candid words with you on the-”

“Sam?” She interrupted him.

“Yes, Sara?”

“Stop talking.”

“… Yes, Sara.”

She sighed, immediately guilty for her sharp tone. But it was a long journey back to Elendel, and she refused to spend it listening to Sam theorize on how Reyes had cared for her and how she was making a mistake in leaving the Port. She didn’t need the kandra to tell her that, she already knew it was true. But, in times of crisis, Sara found there was only one thing she could do.

So she ran away, Kadara Port and the dangerously charming smuggler left in her horse’s dust.


	17. Forgiveness

Sara spent the six months before the wedding falling back into the stiff routines of Elendel. At first she’d complained each morning as she’d squeezed into the fitted bodice and bustling skirts, and then complained some more as the broadsheets speculated about her absence and her sudden return. There were social gatherings Scott assured her she could not avoid, and so she found herself at party after party, listening to idle gossip and tittering small talk that she never participated in. She was convinced she was only invited to such events because she was a novelty, the prodigal daughter, lost and then found.

She hated every moment of it.

When Scott discovered that she’d been sneaking her pistol to such parties in the holster on her thigh, he’d scolded her for nearly an hour and made her promise not to do it again. She promised, to get him to leave her alone, and then promptly bought an even smaller pistol that she could conceal in her clutch, along with her vials of metal shavings.

Months later, when she was certain she was about to keel over from boredom and frustration, an old friend got her a job at Nexus Headquarters. It was a desk job, filing paperwork, sending and receiving messages to and from the field officers, but it was a far sight better than moping around the Ryder Estate while Scott attended Senate meetings and Gil planned the wedding. She loved them both, but their pre-wedded bliss left a bitter taste in her mouth some days.

On those days she holed herself up in her room until nightfall, and then she went out in the mists. It was the only place that felt like home to her anymore, even though it left a sharp ache in her chest without her father’s mistcoat. She couldn’t bring herself to replace it yet, and she refused to tell Scott what had happened to it. So she let the mists brush her skin, a chill reminder of what she’d left behind in Kadara Port.

But, as the wedding drew closer, Sara gradually fit in more. She grew accustomed to the bustle and innovation on every street, she learned to greet snide comments with sharp wit and cool composure, and she turned down every suitor regardless of his wealth and status. She became a mystery to the nobility, nothing more than a puzzle to solve, a code that needed breaking. She welcomed their efforts, and found their failures amusing.

Little did they know she was already broken, and the solution to the puzzle tucked away in the shadows of an unsavory tavern in the slums of Kadara Port.

Sam had grown fond of the dog bones, admitting their usefulness. He could follow her almost anywhere, even to work, as long as he behaved. It gave the kandra a sense of purpose and eased his mind to keep her in his sights. Sara suspected that the hound sensed her regret, her torn feelings, but for once he respected her wishes and didn’t talk about their time in the Port.

One day, only a week before the wedding, Sara arrived home late from work. Liam and his HUST-1 squad had responded to a tenement fire only two blocks from the Terris compound that morning. Luckily they’d managed to save everyone, but the building was utterly destroyed. And the paperwork that came with a crisis response of that calibre was considerable. It hadn’t helped that Sara had been distracted by thoughts that the building might have once been the home of a certain smuggler.

Exhausted from the day and weary from her walk home, Sara pushed the door open and hung her hat and coat on the rack in the hallway. Scott poked his head out from the living room.

“Ah, there you are,” he said. He waved her over. “You received a package.”

Sara stared at him, brow furrowing. “A package?”

Her twin nodded. “Were you not expecting one?”

She joined him in the living room. “No,” she said. “I swear, if this is another gift from Jarun Tann I will scream.”

He laughed. “I don’t think so. Tann usually signs his, this one’s anonymous.”

He handed her the package and she was surprised at its weight. She sat on the sofa, Sam settling at her feet, and carefully untied the jute string that wrapped the packing paper. As she unfolded the paper a familiar smell wafted up to her, warm leather and smoky whiskey. She froze as her fingertips brushed the black material, the Pathfinder insignia on the lapel staring up at her.

“What is it?” Scott asked.

Sara refolded the paper into place, determined to keep her brother from seeing the mistcoat. “Who delivered this?” She demanded.

“I don’t know,” her brother stammered. “A man. He was a couple inches shorter than me, dark haired. He had darker skin, maybe Terris?”

Sara stood, clutching the wrapped coat to her chest as she gasped for breath.

“What’s going on?” Scott asked. “Who is he?”

“Did he have goggles?” She asked. There were plenty of Terrismen in Elendel. Just because one delivered the mistcoat didn’t mean it was _him_. She counted her breaths and tried to regain some composure.

Scott frowned, chewing his lip as he thought over her question. “Actually, yeah. He had welder’s goggles around his neck. I was too distracted by the package to-”

Sara missed the rest of his sentence as she bolted up to her room, Sam close on her heels.

“Sara,” Scott called after her. “What in Harmony’s name is going on?”

“Nothing,” she called back, and then locked herself in her room. She set the package on her bed and stepped away from it, her heart racing. Sam approached the bed and sniffed at the paper and mistcoat. “Well?” She asked.

“It is your father’s mistcoat,” the kandra confirmed.

“I know that,” she snapped. “Was it him? Was he here?”

The dog ruffled through the package with his snout. “I believe there is a note,” he said.

Sara rushed to retrieve the small sheaf of paper, nearly knocking Sam away from the bed in her haste.

 

> _Sara,_
> 
> _Thought you might want this back. I took the liberty of making a few alterations; I hope you’ll forgive me. I’m told that no Coinshot is complete without a proper mistcoat._
> 
>  
> 
> _Yours still,_
> 
> _Reyes_

 

Sara stared at the note, reading it through several times before she put it aside and gingerly retrieved the coat. Right away she knew that the coat was smaller, the shoulders narrower, and the waist was more fitted before shredding into the iconic tassels. She slipped into it and didn’t bother holding back her tears.

She had missed her father’s mistcoat. Its soft, supple leather, worn and scarred from years of law-keeping in the Roughs, warmed her instantly. It smelled like home, felt like family, and now it fit her perfectly. She was certain Paaran Shie had helped Reyes get the coat altered, and she was grateful to them both.

Before the mistcoat had been bulky, a weight on her shoulders. Now it rested and comforted her as she clasped the two buttons at the waist, the tassels dangling to her ankles no longer dragging her down. She adjusted the collar, her fingers trailing over the Pathfinder logo fondly before she went to her desk and retrieved a vial of steel shavings.

Sam watched her, and then looked out the pair of balcony doors. Even in the early evening dusk, the mists were roiling just beyond the balcony. “A perfect night to test out the coat,” Sam mused, his tongue lolling in a doggy grin.

She grinned back at the kandra, the first genuine one she’d felt in months. The metals flared to life in her belly, just as comforting as her mistcoat. She stuffed a handful of coins in one pocket of the coat and then hurried out onto the balcony.

The Ryder Estate was one of those rare properties that boasted lush gardens, left almost entirely to its own devices. It was beautiful and wild, but there was no metal to Push on; she had to provide her own if she wanted to traverse the grounds by Steelpush.

She dropped a coin off the edge of the balcony and looked back at Sam. “Are you coming?” The dog nodded and Sara jumped from the ledge. She burned steel, the blue line from the coin below flaring into life as she Pushed gently against it, slowing her fall. She let out a joyous laugh as the coat tassels whipped around her. This was right, this was what being a Coinshot was all about. Just her, her steel, and the mists.

Using her allomancy, Sara bounded through the gardens, dancing with the mists as they drew nearer to her. Some said the mists were all that was left of the Ascendant Warrior and that’s why they were drawn to mistings burning their metals. Sara never paid the idea much mind, but tonight she shot a thankful prayer to Harmony for them all the same.

The coat was perfect. It didn’t interfere with her aerodynamics as it had before, when it was heavy and billowed in the wind of her Pushes. Now it clung to her, tassels fluttering and teasing the mists. It was perfect.

She shot up as high as she could, flaring her steel, and then doused it, plummeting back toward the ground in a graceful spiral before tossing a coin over her shoulder and pushing off it at an angle. She arced over the lawn, towards a small pond, when she noticed a moving blue line by one of the small trees on the edge of the water.

Sara dropped a coin and Pushed against it softly. Her descent was slow and measured, her boots finding the grass in complete silence. The blue line continued to move, pacing a small path along the shore of the pond. The mists swirled around her, cloying and clinging to her as she moved across the grounds. She dropped a coin as she walked, and then burned her steel to send her flying up and over the mysterious pacing metal.

Her landing wasn’t as elegant, her boots thumping against the dirt as she crouched to absorb the shock of her fall. Reyes spun, his hand instinctively going to his hip, but he stopped himself as his eyes found her face. He watched her, his face impassive as she straightened up but didn’t move closer to him.

“Looks like Paaran was right about your measurements,” he said, his voice so soft she barely heard him.

“It’s perfect,” she said. “Thank you, both of you.”

He smiled and nodded, but didn’t say anything more. His amber eyes were fixed on her, as if trying to make up for all the months they hadn’t been able to look at her.

“How’s the Port?” She asked when a blush crept up her neck at the intensity of his gaze.

“Recovering,” he said. “It was a rough few months, but we’re making progress.” He cleared his throat. “Oblivion production has dwindled, and Keema just announced our intentions to rebuild the neighborhoods in the slums that were destroyed by the Kett.”

Sara nodded, a frail smile on her lips. “You’re actually doing it,” she said.

He chuckled. “We’re trying. How’s Elendel treating you?”

She snorted and shook her head. “People here can’t decide if I’m a damsel in distress or a wild maiden in need of taming. It’s exhausting.”

Reyes’ mirth fizzled at her words. “Anyone who thinks they could bring you to heel is an idiot.”

Sara smiled. “Trust me, I’ve told them as much.”

They stood, basking in each other’s smiles for a moment, the mists swirling around them in slow, lazy spirals. Sara found that her eyes didn’t want to leave his face, for fear that when she looked back he would be gone, faded away into a wall of mist.

“Why are you here, Reyes?” She asked. “I mean,” she said, tugging the mistcoat up around her neck. “I’m grateful to have the coat back, but you could have sent it with a courier.”

He pursed his lips. “I guess I could have,” he said. “I just…” he shook his head and looked down at his boots.

Warmth bubbled up in her chest and she took a step closer to him. “You just what?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to see you.” He started pacing, his nervousness forcing him back into motion. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said. “I’m driving Keema mad.” He glanced up at her, an embarrassed flush on his dusky skin. “She’s the one that demanded I take a break.”

“And you came to Elendel?” She knew the city held more bad memories for him than good ones.

“I had to see you,” he said. He shrugged and stood in place, as if rooted to the spot by his admission. “I miss you, Sara.”

She looked at him, at the open, fearful warmth of his eyes, and noticed for the first time the dark circles under them. As a bronze ferring, any show of exhaustion was serious.

“Will you be staying in Elendel long?” She asked.

He blinked at her. “Another week at most,” he said, confused.

“Where are you staying?”

“Hotel Ladrian.”

She shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

He arched a brow at her. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Waxillium Ladrian is my brother’s opponent in the senate,” she said. “We can’t have a friend of House Ryder staying at his establishment.”

“A friend?” He echoed.

She stepped closer, just within arm’s reach of him. His warmth radiated to her, calling her closer, but she held her ground. “We have a spare room,” she said. “And naturally you’ll have to stay for the wedding.”

He looked down at her, his face uncertain, but hope lingered at the corner of his eyes. “Naturally,” he replied.They were so close now, their bodies succumbing to the gravity between them. “And after that, you’ll want to give the newlyweds their privacy,” he murmured.

She hummed softly. “I do think a trip to the coast would be quite nice this time of year.”

“And if the Nexus decides to open their outpost in the Port,” he trailed off.

She grinned. “Someone has to keep the law in the Roughs.”

He smirked, his fingers tugging on the lapel of her mistcoat. “Might as well be a Pathfinder.” He bowed his head down to hers, his eyes watching her for any hint of hesitation. But there was none; she’d thought of little else since returning to Eendel than exactly this moment.

“Does this mean we will be returning to Kadara Port?” Sam asked from the mists.

Sara jumped and Reyes reached for his pistol. She stayed his hand with her own, ignoring his questioning brow. “Yes, Sam,” she said. “You can come introduce yourself.”

The kandra padded through the grass and mist to sit at her heel. “Mr. Vidal,” Sam said. “A pleasure to finally meet you.”

Reyes blinked several times and then looked to Sara with a dazed expression. “Your dog talks,” he said. “Why does your dog talk?”

She laughed. “He’s the family kandra,” she explained. “Remember when I asked you for those dog bones?” He nodded that he did, and she gestured to Sam. “Here they are!”

Reyes stared at Sam for a long moment, as if trying to decide if he was being deceived in some way. “A kandra,” he finally said, his voice awed.

Sam nodded. “I am Sam’Muun, of the Third Generation.” The hound looked up at him, his expression serious. “I owe a life debt to Alec Ryder, to be paid in service of his House for the rest of its days.”

Reyes looked between Sara and Sam, his eyes bright in the dark of night. “So,” he started. “You’ll come back to the Port with me?”

She pursed her lips to hide her smile. “On one condition,” she said.

His mouth tightened and his eyes crinkled at the corners, the only signs that he was disappointed. But he nodded for her to continue.

“We spend the next week scandalizing the city’s nobility with news of our involvement, and you come as my date to my brother’s wedding,” she said.

Reyes laughed, his face relaxing with relief. “You hardly need to convince me to scandalize the nobles,” he said. “I could do that in my sleep.”

Sara smirked. “I’m sure you could.”

Reyes blushed, but smiled. “Ryder,” he said, his voice exaggerated with shock. “I do believe the Roughs have corrupted you.”

She leaned up onto her toes to brush her lips against his. “Yeah, but you love it.”

He hummed as their mouths reacquainted themselves. They broke apart, and Sara flushed under his gaze. “I do,” he said before dipping back down to capture her lips once more.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You guys... this is it. It's over. This is the last chapter of my favorite fic I've written to date. What started as a challenge from a friend, turned into a joke as I called her bluff and wrote more and more, and then turned into a year long project for us both. The Charlatan and the Coinshot was born as nothing more than a self-indulgent "just-for-us" story, but it grew into so much more. I hope you liked your time spent with Reyes and Sara in one of my favorite fantasy settings. It was an honest joy to write it and to finally share it with all of you.
> 
> Thank you for all of the wonderful comments, the kudos, and the reblogs on tumblr. I'm glad to know this "just-for-us" story could turn out to be for all of you as well.


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